


Powers and Promises

by Regularity



Series: Carol Danvers: S.H.I.E.L.D. Intern [2]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Gen, SHIELD, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2019-11-09 08:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regularity/pseuds/Regularity
Summary: A few months into Carol Danvers' secret, unofficial internship with S.H.I.E.L.D., Carol has relaxed into her routine. But Agent Peggy Carter has other ideas for the rebellious intern.A continuation of the story started in Prelude to Takeoff. Carol Danvers as a high school student in 1990, a secret intern for S.H.I.E.L.D., just trying to get through life with her friends and colleagues.You can follow me on Twitter @rick_cook_jr to get updates and impending posting schedules for my Carol fic, and my other Overwatch: Mei Missions longfic. Follow to get random musings on fics I'm writing, or fics I'd like to write!https://twitter.com/rick_cook_jr





	1. Spring

The car pulls up outside the gates, and Private Longmire is standing there, as usual. The winter months were cold and hard, but Carol could always count on his presence to welcome her to the base.

She parks the family car and steps out. Her fauxhawk is longer with a little curl to it, and she wears a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt under the leather bomber jacket. Instead of the pinup boy on the back, she has replaced it with a stylized Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, popular during World War II.

Her mother gets behind the wheel and waves goodbye. This has become rote for them even though Carol’s only had her license for a week.

Carol turns to Longmire, who is standing at the ready with a clipboard and pen.

She walks up and takes the sign-in sheet, filling it out. There is only her signature on this sheet; seems they use new sheets for every unique individual for security concerns.

She asks, “Do you ever get tired of the same people, same process, every time? Nothing ever happens here.”

Longmire grunts. “A lot happens here, Danvers. Just because it isn’t combat doesn’t mean it isn’t exciting.”

“Gate guard is not exactly a thrilling adventure.”

He sighs, taking the clipboard back from her, investigating her signature, and nods. “Everyone has to do it at some point. Think of it as a grunt’s hazing.”

“How long?” Carol asks, suddenly sad to think she won’t see Longmire at the gates a few times a week.

He shrugs. “New crop of green rolls in later this week.”

That soon? “Hate to have to break in a newbie.”

“Whoever it is will almost surely not know what to do with you, Danvers.” He winks as he lets her through the gate. “You’ll see me around, probably.”

“I’m sure I’ll be flying the skies in a week,” she says, and he nods.

“Any day now.”

The goofy ritual complete, she feels a pang that she won’t get to do it again after this week. Just when she is starting to get used to everything and feel like she’s got this intern thing under control.

She hops onto the waiting golf cart and drives over to the administration building, where she will be meeting Agent Carter. After several months and walking on eggshells around the woman, Agent Carter still hasn’t extended the offer to just call her Peggy. Carol is not sure she wants to, but at least the offer would be nice.

She waves at some of the other soldiers and scientists as she drives the cart through the still-chilly afternoon, turning her face from the slight cold wind generated by the cart’s motion. Some wave back. She doesn’t particularly care if they do, but she’s trying to be nice these days.

She wonders where Tank and Goose and the other pilots have gotten off to, but they’re probably out flying new alien saucers or something equally implausible but somehow still real. Are they going to be gone soon, too? Off to combat threats known and unknown, flying daring missions behind enemy lines, quoting Top Gun at each other relentlessly.

Melinda May being gone might not be so bad, she thinks. She likes the woman, but damn if she can’t pack a punch in that tiny frame. Being an ace pilot, a skilled shooter, and a master martial artist seems like two things too many to be that good at.

She rolls up to the admin building and parks in the painted square on the sidewalk. The square has her name on it, and is an inside joke from when she lost control of the cart when driving the first time and nearly flipped it on the curb, coming to a rest in the space that has since been set aside for her. She leaned into it then, and plans to always lean in to the mortifying stuff now.

Can’t be great if you’re too embarrassed to fail first.

The admin building is unusually quiet, and as she walks through the doors, signing in and going through a secondary security measure, Carol notes that there is no activity within the building. No people, no computers, no secretaries typing away at typewriters. Except Agent Carter’s office, which is a bright spot in the empty, dark building.

Carter is perched on the end of her desk, a smart blue business suit accenting her pale skin, and one of her fancy red hats sits on the desk next to her. She is having a heated discussion with a woman in her late 20s, perhaps, and Dr. Anne Weaver, who still has a sour opinion of Carol after all this time. Some people just like protocol, Carol guesses.

The other woman is another doctorate, one Carol has seen on occasion on base, but never interacted with. She’s taller than Dr. Weaver, but not as tall as Carol herself has become in just a few short months, with bottle blonde wavy hair and full lips. She looks more like a model than a scientist, and Carol feels that familiar twinge in her gut at seeing someone effortlessly more attractive.

The woman stands up while Carol takes her seat outside, and Agent Carter dismisses her, but not Dr. Weaver. The woman nods, and her face is twisted in thinly-concealed rage as she steps out of the door.

Carol tries to mind her own business, but the woman scoffs when she sees Carol. “Speak of the rebel,” she says. Her accent is vaguely New York, but Carol doesn’t know which borough.

“And she shows her rear?” Carol answers before she can think better of it.

The woman waves her hand dismissively and stalks off, muttering about babysitting.

What the hell was that all about? Carol waits impatiently for Dr. Weaver and Agent Carter to finish their private conversation, and she swears that Carter glances out at her multiple times during the meeting.

Finally, feeling absolutely scrutinized, Carol stands up when she sees Dr. Weaver heading for the door to Carter’s office, and Peggy takes her seat behind her desk.

“Nice lady,” Carol says in greeting to Dr. Weaver as she steps out. Carol nods in the direction the blonde woman departed.

Weaver glances and nods. “Susan is… difficult. You’ll see, I suppose.”

“Some new torture masquerading as a teachable moment?”

Dr. Weaver sighs, adjusting her lab coat and stepping out of the doorway. “Life is a teachable moment, Miss Danvers.”

“Thank you for the fortune cookie wisdom, Doc.” She steps past Dr. Weaver, her skin tingling from the feeling of superiority in getting one over on the woman.

Agent Carter smiles when Carol steps into the office, but it’s one of her sardonic grins that usually accompanies a directive that Carol hates.

“The whitest lady we know is a real peach,” Carol says, taking a seat and playing with the feather sticking out of the red fedora on the desk.

Agent Carter’s smile softens as she reaches across the desk to pluck the hat away from Carol’s idle fingers.

“Sue has a tangled home life and very little patience for people who aren’t doing the right things. We’re not here to talk about her, though. Tell me, how do you feel about your internship, now that it’s been a few months?”

What kind of question is that? Carol suddenly wonders if the internship is going to end.

She weighs her response for a few seconds before answering. “I think it has been interesting, and sometimes exciting. It’s only boring when the classroom keeps me from seeing the newest test flights and gadgets.”

“And your sparring sessions with Airman May? Are they proving useful?”

“Useful as a charlie horse. I am learning how to avoid the pain.”

That elicits another grin. This old woman sometimes resembles the pictures of her in her youth, and usually when she spares a genuine smile.

Carter continues, “I thought I should let you know that the parameters of your involvement are changing. Howard did what Howard does, and told some people about his little program who probably should be left in the dark.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you will be on eggshells, Miss Danvers. People higher than me up the food chain are very anxious to see what you accomplish, given proper motivation and access.”

“That still doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Your class work will be replaced with proper ROTC guidance, and you’ll find that you do more physical fitness and mental acuity testing every time you come out here.”

Carol groans. “It’s like you all want to make it too inconvenient to keep this hair.”

“It could use a cut, anyway. It appears to be somewhat flaccid.”

Carol mutters, “I like it this way,” but doesn’t bite back.

Agent Carter stands up, holding a badge with Carol’s face, seemingly identical to the one Carol is currently wearing. “Now that you’re 16 and haven’t sold secrets to the Russians, we’re giving you a proper badge. This will get you through and into the admin building without signing in, the front gate, the skills lab, and the barracks. Anywhere else will still be supervised.”

Carol’s fingers shake as she reaches for the badge held out in front of her. “Is this--is this like a promotion?”

Carter shrugs. “If you like. Your probationary period has come to an end, and now that we must make official your presence here, we can stop playing pretend.”

“Do I get paid now?”

Agent Carter goes back behind her desk, shaking her head with a rueful grimace as she sits back down. “We remain, as ever, a government agency, and this government doesn’t pay if it doesn’t have to.”

Nuts. Worth a shot, though. Carol’s deflated shoulders must have been noticeable, because Peggy says, “Buck up, Miss Danvers. You have a little more autonomy, and a lot more freedom, while you’re here on base. Baby steps, as they say.”

“Baby steps don’t pay for concert tickets.”

“You will manage, I’m sure.”

Carol shrugs. “So what am I doing today?”

Agent Carter shrugs right back.

Carol pauses. “I get to decide?”

“You have the rest of your time today to do as you will, within the confines of your badge and who you can convince to go elsewhere. Starting next time, the first hour of your internship will alternate days between ROTC coursework, physical training, and mental acuity. The second hour will be unsupervised freedom, but if you don’t make use of the time, you will be assigned additional training.”

Carol groans. Running is for people without wings.

“And my last two hours?”

“Shadowing various pilots, scientists, soldiers, administrators, and maybe a janitor or two.” Agent Carter’s mouth turns up in a half-smile at the last. “Life experience, we’ll call it.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Well, yes, as I said.” She gestures to the door. “You may go about your business today, and decide what you do with your remaining time.”

What a dismissal. Carol stands up, clipping her new badge in place of the old one, leaving it on Carter’s desk.

“Um, Agent Carter?”

“Yes, Miss Danvers?”

Carol hates this. But she’s trying.

“I’m not sure I ever really thanked you. I mean, Howard’s the one who brought me in, but I know you’re the one who has been directing this whole thing. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, but I know I want to be doing it.”

Agent Carter waits, eyes slightly widened in what Carol is sure must be shock.

Carol says, “So. You know. Thank you for the continued opportunity to do and see things no one my age gets to do. Or See.” She fights the embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks.

“It isn’t a favor I’m doing for you, Carol. You’re here because we saw something in you that should be nurtured, and better that your potential talents are put to good use for your country, rather than frittering it all away in some punk band in some downtown dive in Boston.”

Carol bites her lip to keep from making a sarcastic remark. They never go well with this woman.

“All the same. I’ve seen amazing things, done some incredible stuff. No kid gets that chance.”

Carter sighs. “You’re welcome. For what it’s worth, you earned it.”

Carol nods. She isn’t sure what she’s really done to earn it. It all feels like some Air Force Cinderella dream, and any moment midnight is going to turn her fighter jet back into a cheeseburger.

She wonders what May and Reilly are up to as she opens the door to Agent Carter’s office.

“Thanks again, Margaret.”

“You can call me Peggy.” They both stop in their motions. Peggy’s face is nonplussed, as if she hadn’t meant to say it and is surprised. Carol recognizes the feeling.

“Thanks, Peggy.”

Peggy Carter nods, and Carol leaves the building before anything else weird happens.

*****

Peggy Carter holds a file folder in her hands. It’s late, and everyone is gone from the office. She is nursing a scotch and reviewing the contents of the file. Medical records and test results from civilian Carol Danvers. Observations from Dr. Susan Storm, resident biologist. The real reason Carol’s presence has been tolerated all this time, after a rocky start and no real cause to continue.

There’s something different about their rebellious intern. Something that doesn’t quite fit with the genetic profile.

Something that just might not be human. And what is unusual is often useful.

Peggy takes a sip of her scotch, wondering what it could be, when a sudden wave of fatigue hits her. Her mind goes sluggish for a moment, and then it clears up. She looks over her desk as if seeing it for the first time. Pictures of her husband, her kids, the file on Miss Danvers; the reminders of her life and what she has been doing come flooding back.

Peggy sets the scotch aside. Maybe she’s becoming a lightweight in her advanced years.


	2. Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol spends time with a group of friends she is confused, but happy, to have. Hank McCoy and Tony Stark get along because of science interests, and Jessica Drew is her best friend since forever. Tony flirts and they have a minor run-in with the jock that Carol and Hank tangled with in the fall.

Carol is sore from her day of fitness training. She ran and ran until she had nothing left, and the soldier acting as drill sergeant for her made her run some more. 

Convincing people to let her do anything but exercise or sparring might prove more difficult than she first assumed. She has left her hair to flop to one side after a hasty on-base shower, and is expecting Tony any minute at the gates.

It isn’t Longmire working security tonight, and Carol asks the soldier, “So is Private Longmire done with door duty?”

The soldier shrugs. She has been on duty occasionally in the evenings in place of Longmire, and Carol doesn’t know her name, nor does she care to in the moment because she’s so tired.

Tony Stark’s red Mustang pulls up to the gate, fiery in the setting sun, and Carol quenches her envy. It is a 1969 Boss 429, and there aren’t many in existence compared to other Mustangs. The fatigue is pushed away as the sight of the car energizes her. Now that she has a license, she has asked Tony to let her drive the Mustang every time he sees her, and every time she gets the same response.

She raps on the window and he rolls it down, revving the engine a little for good measure.

“Can I drive it?” she asks. She could be nicer about it, but he doesn’t really deserve it.

“You know the terms,” he says, then grins.

She stifles the urge to dent his arm. “You’re extorting a minor, you know.”

He feigns offense. “I’m just trying to take a girl out to dinner.”

“I’m not interested in a boyfriend... right now.” She isn’t sure why she hesitates. 

“Hop in,” Tony says, patting the passenger seat and smiling at her. “Or we’re gonna be late.”

She sighs and walks around the car, defeated. She is NOT going to give in to his clumsy romancing just to drive his stupid Mustang. He is worth so much, anyway, he probably has a spare and a butler to bring it to him.

When she plants her rump in the passenger seat, he says, “How do you know you’d like being behind the wheel of this thing, anyway?”

He drives off, his usual cool and confident demeanor translating to the way he drives, seamlessly avoiding potholes and bumps in the road without feeling like he is jerking the car around.

Carol holds her bag, angry at the question. “It’s a rare Mustang that you definitely dropped some extra power in. Why wouldn’t I want to drive it?”

Tony glances at her briefly. Then grins. “I could say the same about myself.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“All right, all right. Look, I get it. You aren’t interested. I’ll tell you what, I’ll stop asking, and just know the offer is on the table.”

She would feel dirty accepting it for ulterior motives, but would it really be so bad? She already spends time with him, and maybe a single date would shut him the hell up.

“Hey,” she says, “If it isn’t a date, what would it take to let me drive?”

“So we’re negotiating.”

“I’m just curious if there’s options.”

He considers as they pull onto the highway, joining the evening traffic of Boston as they head out to Beverly, Massachusetts, the suburb where Carol lives. “I have been thinking it’s time to upgrade…. I might be willing to sell it to you. Then you can drive it all you want.”

“I’m not buying a car I haven’t driven yet,” she counters. Not to mention she has no real money. She definitely won’t mention it to the casually richest person anyone knows.

“You’re going to get real familiar with Catch-22, then.”

She doesn’t get the reference, but doesn’t want to admit it. “Hypothetically, how much would you sell it for?”

The number he throws out is pure fantasy to a girl in high school, even if she had a job. She doesn’t know what a 1969 Boss 429 is worth, only that they’re relatively rare 20 years later and he is obviously low-balling the price for her benefit. And still.

She says, “Well, I’ll shop around.”

He doesn’t respond, only nods with a small smile, the smile that she hates because she knows it is a smile of condescension, even if he doesn’t realize it.

They drive mostly in radio tunes until Tony pulls into the old-fashioned diner a few miles from home. Carol sees Jessica is already inside, occupying a booth and brushing off the attentions of a hazardous football player named Johnny.

That Johnny. 

It’s been a delicate dance, avoiding him and his goony friends ever since she and Hank kicked their asses and fled. Hank isn’t around, which is unusual because he’s pretty punctual.

“Trouble,” Carol says, getting out of the car before Tony can ask what kind.

Johnny sees Carol through the window and grins as she storms inside the diner to confront him. Fight Carol all day, but leave Jess alone.

Johnny stands tall as Carol stalks up to him. “See, Jess, I knew your girlfriend was on her way. Never without each other, attached at the--” He thrusts his hips forward in a lewd gesture and Carol swings her knee up at his groin, narrowly missing since he was ready for it.

Tony hurries in behind Carol, too late to hear the remark but fast enough to see Carol’s knee strike out.

“Whoa, hey, what seems to be the problem here?” he asks, coming up between the pair.

“Get lost, pretty boy,” Johnny says to Tony, and Tony laughs. 

“You need to work on your insults. Is this guy bothering you, Jess?” Tony asks, ignoring Carol for the moment.

“Like a gnat bothers a peach,” Jess says, smiling tiredly up at Carol. “You need new moves, girlfriend. He dodged this time.”

“I’ve hit him enough, it’s probably inverted,” she says, sliding into the booth beside her best friend, who locks an arm into hers and leans her head on Carol’s shoulder in a side-hug.

Johnny, seeing that they’ve got backup in Tony, and now Hank as he walks in the door sporting his trademark shaggy hair and a new bruise on his chin, turns his head up at the group. 

“I’ll catch you later, Danvers. Eventually you’ll slip up and find yourself alone.”

Carol says nothing as chills tickle down her spine. She waits for him to leave, and then Hank and Tony nod heads at each other, mutual acquaintances now, before taking the other side of the booth.

“He’s a real treasure,” Tony says, “me a couple years ago, maybe.”

“Surely you couldn’t have been as bad as Johnny,” Hank muses. “Apples don’t fall far from trees, and leopards never change their spots.”

Tony grimaces. “I hope the latter isn’t true, otherwise Carol here is in big trouble.”

“Hey,” she says, releasing Jessica’s arm and pointing a finger at him. “I’ll come over this table like a rabid kangaroo.”

They devolve into laughter and grins. Six months ago Carol would have been shocked to know that she was friends with both a billionaire’s son and her intellectual class rival who was, oh yeah, also a mutant. And a vigilante.

Hank McCoy and Tony Stark. Good guys, always have your back, smarter than they are wise, but still teenage boys. Well, Tony might be twenty now, she isn’t sure when his birthday is.

They laugh and joke and share stories, drink milkshakes on Tony’s dime, and have a totally normal evening after the moment with Johnny. Carol still feels weird sometimes about not being Punk Carol, the girl who gives no shit, takes no shit, hates everything normal. The adjustment out of rebellion for the sake of rebellion has been hard.

Hank, having loosened up around people despite his status as a mutant being hidden from all but Carol, is fun but a bit stuffy. Tony helps ease that by keeping him engaged in computer talk, allowing him to be a geek without being shamed for it. After all, the son of a billionaire is a geek and no one makes fun of him.

While Hank and Tony talk about something called a particle accelerator--snooze factory--Carol leans into Jess. “You seem good, today,” she whispers.

“I’ve been better, I’ve been worse,” Jess answers flippantly. “How was Intern Danvers today?”

“Tired. They changed up my routine and I get the feeling they’re not telling me something.”

“Isn’t that pretty usual?”

“I mean, something important about me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”

“Paranoia keeps a girl healthy.”

“It also keeps her anxious.” Carol sits back from the whisper party and looks around at the diner. Maybe they’re hiring?

Does she really want to serve cheeseburgers when it will be a reminder every ten minutes that she’s not earning her wings so she can claim her callsign for real?

She glances at Tony and Hank, wondering not for the first time what they get out of these hangouts. Tony seems to be becoming fast friends with Hank, over their shared geeky interests, but Tony surely has his own friends, that are his age and not high schoolers. Hank, of course, probably wants the opportunity to meet Howard Stark at some point, and being friends with the son is as good a way as any.

“Hey, Tony?” she interrupts.

“What’s up?”

“Can I, uh, talk to you for a minute?”

She stands up and gestures to the jukebox in the corner, and Tony shrugs, smiling at Hank and Jessica as he follows.

When they are far enough away from the table for privacy, Carol asks, “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” He leans an elbow on the glass bubble of the juke, assuming a casual posture.

She tries not to be frustrated by him. “Like, I get it. I was a curiosity at first. A toy your dad was playing with, and you wanted to see what the fuss was about. But it’s been months, now. Aside from insistently asking me out, what’s your deal? Why are you so interested in me and my goings-on?”

As she talked, his posture became defensive until he is standing straight, shoulders back, arms crossed in front of him.

Tony says, “Does there have to be something else than flirting?”

She nods. “Let’s be real here. You aren’t going to get with me, in any sense. Even if you did, I’m not from your world. I’d never fit in, and I don’t really want to. Your dad plucked me out of obscurity because I said the right thing at the right time. You’ll never have obscurity. You’ll never be nobody.”

Tony unfolds his arms plaintively in front of her. “You aren’t nobody, Carol. I like you. You and your weird friends are the only interesting thing going on that doesn’t have a security clearance blocking the way. Anyone interesting my age has gone off and done their own thing. College, working, relief work in Wakanda, partying all day and night. And that shit is fine. I’m looking forward to it when I start MIT in the fall.”

MIT? “So you figured out what you’re doing, and it’s more or less staying right here?”

“MIT is not ‘staying right here’. Do you know how many S.H.I.E.L.D. techs have graduated from MIT?”

The diner is noisy with plates clinking and people chattering, but their voices are rising above the din. They’re this close to having an actual argument.

Carol says, “Listen, wait. Shit. I’m saying the wrong things again. I’m not like, trying to shut you down or push you away. I like you, too, Tony. You’re… grounding, when I feel like the earth is going to crumble. I don’t like you, like you, but you get it, right? You’re a good friend.”

He shrugs. “I guess I can deal with that.” But can he really? 

She gives him a light shove and he pretends to be pushed back. “Oh, Carol, so strong.”

They chuckle as they rejoin the table until it’s time to take Jess home. Hank catches the bus, and Carol piles into the back seat of the Mustang, since it’s harder for Jess on her tired days to clamber around.

Now that Tony has been unequivocally shut down, he focuses his attentions back on Jessica, and they effortlessly flirt with each other on the short drive. Carol ignores them, stifling a pang of jealousy, and watches the businesses slide by. She sees a new ice cream shop that’s just opened, busy with young kids and their parents, teenagers in groups, loners just trying to have a treat. 

The place is called “Ice Dream, Inc.”, which is a weird name, doubly so because the word “Ice” is covered in glittering shards of what are supposed to look like diamonds. 

They stop at a street light, and while waiting for it to turn green, Carol watches a woman in a smart, form-fitting dress and long blonde hair put up a sign in the window. The sign reads “Now Hiring” with $5/hr, which is well above the minimum wage in Boston and surrounds right now.

Carol thinks this may be a place worth looking into, and as she does, the light turns green. Tony pulls forward, and the blonde woman suddenly looks away from the restaurant, directly at Carol in the cramped back seat, and smiles as they drive away.

Creepy. But $5/hr…

Jessica falls into silence the closer they get to her home, and Tony does most of the talking from that point. Carol thinks it is because Jess is exhausted. She had treatments just a couple days ago, and every round seems to take her just a little bit longer to recover.

As they’re pulling up to Jess’s house, Carol asks, “Jess, you need help with your homework?”

Jessica turns in the seat to look Carol in the eyes. Understanding passes between them, and Jess smiles. “Yeah, I think I could. You were always better at Algebra than me.”

“I’m pretty good with a calculator,” Tony says, grinning.

Jessica glances at him, spares him a smile. “I’m sure you are, hot stuff. But it’s already kind of late and I don’t need the extra distraction.”

“I was always better at chemistry, anyway.” He shrugs. “You ladies have a good night, and definitely don’t do anything I would do, at least without calling me first.”

They smile at his bad joke and he revs the engine playfully as he zooms away down the suburb streets. 

“Is it bad tonight?” Carol asks once he’s gone and they stand on the curb next to her driveway.

“It’s bad every night, Care Bear. I’d just rather you help me with the physical stuff. Showering and changing in front of my mom stopped being normal like two years ago.”

Carol lets her friend walk as far as she can on her own steam, and only helps her get up the steps once she’s halfway to the second floor. Jess’s mother hovers like a good helicopter parent until Carol assures her that Jess is in good hands.

Carol’s hands may be good, but her heart hurts. It is terrifying to see her friend in such a physically weak state, and be unable to help. Really help.

“I know that look,” Jess says as they get into the bathroom. “That’s your ‘woe is me’ look.”

“Your butt is going to be ‘woe is me’,” Carol says defensively, leaning against the sink.

“Everyone has that look. I shot mine and buried it as soon as I knew I had an expiration date.”

“Can you not talk like that?” 

Jess shrugs, taking her blouse off. Carol turns away politely. They’ve been here before, once or twice since the treatments started getting more frequent and stronger. Carol has seen Jess’s body multiple times over their long friendship, but it seems indelicate to see it when she’s hurting. When she’s tired.

“Look, not talking about it isn’t going to make it go away. You know it better than I do by now. I can at least make jokes. If I ever stop cracking wise, that’s when you should start to worry.”

She gets into the shower and Carol sits down on the tile floor, feeling awkward but happy to be here for her friend. She made a promise a few months ago when she first found out Jess was sick. 

She will always be here for Jessica. 

Whatever she needs, Carol will provide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you coming from "Prelude to Takeoff", welcome back! I didn't forget about any of Carol's friends, but I'm also working to bring everyone a bit more into their own arcs. A strong supporting cast is as important as the main character, so expect everyone to grow and change in this new volume of Carol Danvers: S.H.I.E.L.D. Intern!
> 
> Chapter 3 is coming in two weeks, around the first or second of April!


	3. Fight Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol is tired after a long day of S.H.I.E.L.D. physical fitness, hanging with friends, and helping Jessica in her weakened state. When her mother takes her to task for being late, they have an argument and Carol leaves in a rage, and eventually goes to blow off steam by finding her friendly neighborhood vigilante, Hank McCoy.

Late and mentally exhausted from helping Jessica with her schoolwork on top of the physical help, Carol walks into her house that night, after Jess’s mother drops her off, and directly into a fight with her mother.

“You’re late,” her mother says.

Carol sighs and drops her bag after putting the keys on the hook near the door. “You knew I was going to be helping Jessica.”

Her mother leans against the doorframe to the kitchen. “Always helping your friend.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Not when it affects your grades, or this weird internship.”

“It… isn’t.” Carol doesn’t know what to make of this sudden anger from her mother. “You haven’t shown any interest in anything I’m doing for months. Why do you care?”

Her mother frowns deeper. “I just think you’re stretching yourself thin. Taking on too much.”

“You’re a housewife,” Carol shoots back. 

“Hey!” her father says from the living room, where late night TV is on. “Don’t talk to your mother that way, missy.”

“I’m going to bed if you’re just going to be assholes,” Carol says loud enough for only her mother to hear.

Carol’s mother springs off the wall and gets in Carol’s face. “You shouldn’t speak to your parents that way.”

Carol stands taller than her mother, by just a little bit. She stands her full height now, defiant. She hisses, “I’ll stop calling you an asshole when you stop being an asshole.”

Her mother backs down, searching Carol’s eyes. “You might not think it, but your grades matter. You drop one grade letter and suddenly you’re not on the Honor Roll, colleges don’t offer scholarships, and you’re stuck working as a secretary until a husband snatches you up. Is your future worth spending more time with your friends?”

Carol is ready to rage. How dare her mother try and appeal to Carol this way?

“Are you kidding me? You think I’m just hanging out and painting my nails with Jessica?” Her voice starts to rise, but she can’t help it. “You knew about her condition before I did. You know she’s got a time limit. If you think we’re just fucking around gossiping about who’s hot, you truly don’t know anything about me.”

“Do I need to come in there?” her father says, and Carol stifles the urge to yell at him, too.

“No, dear,” her mother says. “This is a woman’s thing.”

Woman’s thing. “This is a human thing, Mom. You are asking me to spend less time with the girl who has less time.”

“I just think you should be conscientious of your time and make sure you don’t waste it.”

“Jessica could never be a waste of my time!” Carol yells, grabbing the keys from the hook and bolting out the door. Her whole body feels hot, and angry, and she could just explode. Like there’s the boiling rage of a star within her, and she could let it out. Let it rip through her entire life.

She peels out of the driveway, ignoring her father running out of the house in his work chinos and a white undershirt. Her eyes stream angry tears, and she drives recklessly, not knowing where she’s going until she stops in a not so great part of Boston, still fuming angry and hurt. She might have gone to Jessica to vent, but Jess has enough problems and needs rest.

She scans the area for a particular blue tracksuit, and spots it with its shaggy head walking down the street a couple blocks down, picking up trash.

She drives down to him and pulls into a metered spot, honking to get his attention.

He jumps, head darting over to her, and then a complex tapestry of emotions crosses his face. Fear at the unexpected noise, recognition at Carol’s face, worry that she is in a bad part of town, confusion at her very presence. 

She jumps out, wiping her face on her leather jacket, and says, “I thought you had super hearing, how’d I sneak up in a car?”

“What are you doing here?” He currently looks like nothing more than a late-night jogger, which is part of the act, she’s sure.

“I need to crack a skull or three. Don’t ask and don’t worry. I’ve got S.H.--” She almost blurts out the truth and not the cover story in her anger. “I’ve taken self defense classes and you’ve seen me in a brawl before. Now let’s go kick a deserving ass.”

She doesn’t wait for him to argue or follow, though he does both.

She ignores his cautious words as they circle the block, but there’s nobody in particular out and about on a Tuesday night. As the minutes pass, and the nearest thing they see to a punishable offense is a young man jaywalking, Carol’s adrenaline and anger cool down and fizzle. She stops walking so fast, and Hank has no trouble keeping up with her now.

“I thought you were always in danger doing this shit,” she says.

“I never said it was constant. Most nights I end up picking up litter and--”

“Helping little old ladies across the street?”

“Something like that.”

“And yet you got that last night.” She indicates the bruise on his face.

He flushes a little bit. “Yes, well, some nights are, in fact, dangerous.”

Carol mutters about danger, and kicks a brick wall, letting loose a shower of mortar and shards of brick from a weak place in the wall.

Hank goes over and picks the shards up, and Carol sighs heavily.

She leans against the wall and watches him drop the brick dust and shards into a garbage bin. 

“Such the boy scout.”

“I find it calming to be helpful even in the downtimes.”

Calm is bullshit, she thinks.

“Have you ever run into people with like, knives or guns?” she asks.

He nods. “Once a kid about our age pulled a knife on me. He was not skilled with it, however, and I was able to disarm him.”

“What are you going to do when you go toe-to-toe with an uzi?”

He sighs. “I doubt many street level operatives are going to be wielding submachine guns. But I do not truly know what I will do when faced with a gun. I would hope my self-preservation makes me flee, but I also would feel responsible if I let that person go.”

“Heavy stuff.” She feels muddy and used, the pent-up anger scratching at her insides. She sighs and kicks off the wall. “I guess we should just go--”

“Wait,” Hank says, his ears perking up. He listens intently for a moment, hearing what she can’t, and grabs the blue ski mask from a pocket. “A purse is about to be snatched.”

A woman screams from a couple blocks away, yelling about some asshole. Carol doesn’t have a ski mask, or a hood, or really anything, but her adrenaline spikes back up and she darts off behind Hank, heedless of her visibility.

The purse-snatcher rounds the corner, heading for an alley, laughing and panting, carrying a large sequined shoulder-bag. He looks to be about their age. Hank jumps at the kid, and the kid dives into a roll, somehow avoiding Hank, who looks at his hands in confusion. 

Carol goes in to do the same maneuver, pretending to grab at the kid, knowing he would roll or dodge or something, waiting for it.

He jukes back and left, and Carol throws her shoulder into a body check, using his sideways momentum against him. She puts all the frustration, all the rage, all the unchecked emotions into it. Even though he is a little bigger than she is, the force of the attack knocks the wind out of both of them, sending Carol to the sidewalk and the kid practically bounces into the street.

They’re both coughing and trying to get up, and suddenly there’s lights, and honking, and the kid is scrambling in a halo of headlights.

Hank is there in a flash of blue motion, yanking the kid by his arm up and over the curb just as the car is screeching to a halt. The driver peals the tires and flips them off as the car pulls away.

Carol is working to breathe, adrenaline coursing, feeling like she’s never inhaled in her life. Her shoulder screams from the impact, her arm is numb. The kid coughs, struggling to get away from Hank, who has him pinned down and extracts the purse.

“Lemme go, man, keep the purse!” the kid manages. Carol sees his eyes wide with fear, but Hank is placid, immovable. Unmoved by his pleas.

Carol manages a shaky first breath, and her pulse quickens. She stands up, holding her shoulder and working the feeling back into her arm. 

“Yeah, you sonofabitch,” she says, “think you can just steal a lady’s purse and be done with it. This isn’t your town to terrorize.”

Hank looks at her, his expression mildly worried. “We’re letting him go.”

“You’re joking. We should be dumping his ass in front of the nearest cop car.”

The lady whose purse was stolen rounds the corner, carrying a pair of heels in her hands and running barefoot down the street. She stops short when she sees the pair of Carol and Hank over the subdued thief.

Hank hands the purse up to Carol and nods to the woman. “If you would.”

Carol takes it and stalks over to the woman, seething about letting the kid go. She didn’t even get to kick him while he was down.

The woman is wary at first, and it takes Carol a moment to understand why. A punky grunge girl and a large man in a blue tracksuit isn’t exactly your standard Boston nightlife.

“You should probably travel in a larger group, or carry a taser or something,” Carol says. “Not everyone is as nice as me and the big blue beast over there.”

“What is this A Team bullshit?” the woman says with a thick Boston accent, accepting the purse.

“The A Team wishes it were as bad as us,” Carol says, smirking.

“Whatever. You gonna drag him downtown?”

Carol shrugs. “I guess he learned his lesson. Hey, dickstain!” she calls over her shoulder. “You gonna go robbing helpless ladies again?”

“No man, no!” he yells, still struggling under Hank. “I’m flying right. Totally normal, no snatching.”

Carol is pretty sure he’s just saying whatever will get him free, but Hank lifts his weight off the kid and lets him scramble to safety. 

Once he stands and gets ten or so feet away, he turns and postures a bit. “Buncha freaks! You’ll get what’s comin’ to ya.”

When Carol makes a motion toward him, he turns tail and sprints away, disappearing into an alley. Now that the commotion has passed, and the woman is putting her heels back on, Carol rubs her shoulder again. Seems like it should hurt a little more than it does.

“Well, I guess, thanks?” the woman says, fishing in the purse and pulling out a $10 bill.

Carol eyes the money and glances back to Hank. “Hey, do you accept payment for services unasked for?”

He nods, keeping his face and voice hidden under the mask.

“Cool.” Carol takes the $10 and pockets it. “Have a good night, lady.”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” the lady asks. 

“Shouldn’t you?” Carol shoots back.

The woman sighs. “Vigilantes,” she mutters and walks away, rejoining her friends who are up the street. 

Once the woman and her friends disappear, Carol pumps her fist in the air and goes to hi-five Hank. But Hank’s composure drops and he yanks the mask off, hyperventilating.

“Oh man, that was awesome, Hank!” she says, dropping her hand on his shoulder while he is doubled over. She’s so amped up she’s ready to kick a few more asses.

Hank grins and stands tall, getting his breath under control. “Apologies. Happens every time the danger has passed. It was quite thrilling, and you did well!”

He places his hand over hers on his shoulder, and squeezes. The look on his face and the emotions running high suddenly make Carol think that Hank is about to kiss her. He’s leaning closer, a big goofy smile on his face.

Does she want that? She isn’t sure.

As she’s about to back away from his advance, he says, “How do you feel about chocolate pie?”

Pie. “Huh?” 

“Tonight we received compensation. So tonight we eat pie.”

Pie. Carol lets Hank’s shoulder go, embarrassed and relieved. 

*****

They take a seat at the same diner they hung out at earlier in the day, and Hank immediately orders an entire chocolate pie, with ice cream on the side. They are alone besides the waiter.

Carol asks, “Is this… normal for you?”

Hank shrugs, staring around the empty diner. “It is more awkward when you order a whole pie by yourself.”

“So yes.”

He eyes the waiter coming over to the table with the whole pie, and Carol glances over, too. “That’s the same dude who served us like eight hours ago.”

He’s tall, African American, maybe Tony’s age, kind of handsome, hair cut short on the sides, almost military. He looks tired and disgruntled now, whereas he appeared just disgruntled earlier.

The waiter says to Hank, “I’m not about to ask why you’re out past curfew again,” while placing the pie and two plates with forks.

“We wouldn’t answer anyway, James,” Carol says after checking his nametag. “Do you live here or what?”

“Somedays it feels like it. I’ll be back with the ice cream.” He leaves without asking if they need anything else, and Carol is mildly amused at his demeanor, while also kind of wanting to kick his shins.

“He recognizes you, huh?” she says once he disappears into the back.

“I’ve been here a few times,” Hank admits. “People tend to be grateful when you help them and don’t ask for anything.”

Carol pretends to fawn over him. “Oh, Blue Beasty, take me away for pie and smooches!” and pretends to swoon.

Hank’s cheeks turn red as James walks back up to the table, holding a scoop in one hand, and a comically large bucket of ice cream in the other, which he lets thump to the table, rattling the pie in its tin and Carol’s bones.

“Seriously? What kind of service is this,” Carol says.

James the waiter’s eyes roll. “Curbside. I’m gonna scoop and you just say when.”

“We’re not paying for extra scoops.”

“Did I ask you to?” He begins scooping large spheres of vanilla ice cream out and onto Hank’s plate, and Hank politely asks him to stop after two. He turns to Carol and Carol grins.

“Load me up, James.”

He sighs and starts scooping. It’s less fun when people aren’t playing along, but as he drops the second scoop and she doesn’t say stop, his eyebrows raise and he scoops a third, then waits. Carol nods.

A fourth scoop, and Carol leans in, rotating her thumb and finger in a “keep going” gesture.

James scoops a fifth, then sixth, and finally a seventh scoop, before Carol grins again. “I just wanted to see you elbow deep in that bucket.”

He smiles back viciously. “You’re gonna make a mess with that little plate.”

“Not a drop wasted,” Carol promises. But now she’s looking at the pie plate, heaped high with already melting ice cream, and isn’t so sure.

“Maybe some extra napkins?” Hank suggests, and James nods, taking away the ice cream.

“That was unnecessary,” he says after James leaves, passing the payphone on the way to the kitchen.

“So is his attitude,” Carol says, defensive.

“You might find you and he are cut from a similar cloth tonight.”

“What the hell does that mean?” She stabs her fork into the pie tin and digs out a large helping, while Hank does the same.

“I only suggest that you are working through something, apparently, and so is he. A young man who works a double shift into the night hours is either hiding from something, or working very very hard to make himself better. Which do you suppose James is?”

Carol shuts up. She’s been so preoccupied ignoring her own shit that the not-so-random waitstaff’s problems are a bit of a blur.

Still. He could be nicer.

She eyes the payphone and says, “I think I need to make a phone call.”

“Your ice cream is going to melt,” Hank says.

“It’ll be quick.” She hops up and fishes a quarter from her pocket, remembering that it was her mother who suggested always keeping a quarter in case of emergencies, and then being mad at her for being right.

The phone rings a single time before it clicks and her mother answers, “Hello? Carol?” 

Carol stifles the spike of pain in her chest at the fear in her mother’s voice. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”

A stream of invectives and worrying follows, and Carol’s brother Steve says something in the background, to which Marie Danvers hushes.

Carol watches James come back out of the kitchen, dropping a stack of napkins on the table and chatting with Hank about who knows what. 

“Your father is out looking for you,” she finally says, when the commotion on the other end dies down.

Carol says, “I figured. Look, I’m okay, and I’m coming home soon.”

“You’re coming home now.” At the table, Hank laughs at something James says while running a hand through his shaggy hair, and James grins while walking away.

Carol says, “You’re lucky I’m coming home at all. I’m still pissed at you, Mom.” She hesitates. “But I am coming home. You shouldn’t have to worry I’m dead or run away. I’m safe. I’m eating pie.”

“Pie? Just come home, Carol. If you get back before your father does, maybe we can lessen your punishment.”

“I’ll get back and face the gallows when I’m done. See you soon.”

She hangs up amidst her mother’s continued protests.

She sits back down at the table, feeling a little better about the evening, and picks up her fork. The ice cream has started to seriously melt, and she dams up the edge of the plate with a couple napkins.

“I suppose you heard all that?” she asks around a mouthful of ice cream and pie.

Hank shrugs. “It is hard to avoid.”

“I hope your parents are a little nicer.”

“They are decidedly not.” He doesn’t go on, and Carol lets it go. 

“So you seem to be friendly with our dear James.”

He smiles. “He is very funny, when he’s not trying to be mean-spirited to mohawked girls.”

James returns to the table with a couple glasses of water, and Carol clears her throat to get his attention.

He sighs. “Do you want more ice cream or something?”

Carol crosses her arms in front of her chest, while Hank busily inspects his pie before taking a huge bite. 

She says, “I want to apologize. You’re kind of a dick, but I’m definitely being one right now.”

This seems to genuinely surprise him, but he says, “I’m tired from classes and working twelve hours, what’s your excuse, little miss grunge?”

“Dying friend, shitty mother. Kind of the grunge motif, huh?”

His eyes widen at the flippant admission of a dying friend, and he says, “Look, I’m not at my best tonight, and I’m guessing you aren’t either. Let’s take a cue from shaggy head over here.”

“Shut up and eat pie?” Carol asks, and he nods. “Grab yourself a fork.”

James smiles and leaves to grab an extra plate and fork. The place is still empty, so it isn’t like he’s neglecting other customers.

“I didn’t mean you should become friends,” Hank says around a mouthful of pie and ice cream. He quickly wipes his mouth and sits up straighter.

“Don’t worry, weirdo, it’s not like I’m gonna spill your secrets in front of him.”

“I would hope not,” Hank says. “You’ve only just met.”

James comes back and grabs a chair from a nearby table, sliding it up to the booth and sitting down. “I’ll say this much,” he says, scooping out his own pie and stealing some of Carol’s ice cream. “You make the night go faster.”

Carol holds out a hand, and after a moment James takes it, shaking delicately, like she’s a flower he’s afraid of bruising. She squeezes hard to compensate and he pulls his hand back.

“Point made, you’re a hardass.”

“Carol Danvers. This is Hank McCoy.”

“James Rhodes, but my friends call me Rhodey.”

“Well, James,” Carol says, ignoring his invitation, “pleasure to share pie with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is coming in two weeks, where Carol will spend time with her Flight Club friend, Maria Rambeau!


	4. Hoops and Scoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol Danvers, having been grounded for her outburst and running from home, concocts a lie to hang out with Maria Rambeau after school. They attend a basketball game, and later Carol finds a job, meeting Emma Frost in the process.

Carol sits alone at lunch the following day. Jessica is out sick, and Hank sits with his geeky friends. She feels lucky to have gotten off so light as far as punishments go, but maybe her mother realized the deep betrayal in calling Jess a waste of time, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

Grounded, but not barred from internship or extracurriculars. She’s looking forward to Flight Club this afternoon, since that’s all she’s allowed to do.

However, Maria Rambeau suddenly plops down in a chair across from Carol, which is odd since they don’t have the same lunch period.

“What’s up, Flygirl?” Maria asks, and Carol responds, “Us, someday.”

“Someday, us.” Maria looks around, waves at someone, and says, “Is this what first period lunch looks like? The tables are so clean and there’s hardly any ketchup on the floor.”

“Give it a minute, I’m sure some kid will get tripped. What are you doing here?”

Maria grins. “A little light truancy from class never killed anybody. Thought I’d let you know that I had to cancel Flight Club today.”

Carol’s spirits drops. “What? Why?”

Maria shifts uncomfortably. “I have a thing I gotta go do. Apparently, since Flight Club isn’t a real club, it doesn’t count on applications for ROTC. I have… scheduling issues with most clubs and sports, so I’m gonna go watch some girls shoot hoops and see about joining the team as a floater.”

Ew, sports. “Well, if Flight is canceled, I guess I have to just go home. I do not recommend being grounded.”

“I heard some rumors you skipped town for a little while last night.”

Jesus, everyone knows everything. Well, not everything. Hank and Carol’s vigilante pursuits haven’t made the rumor mill yet.

Carol sighs. “I’ll tell you all about it next time we do Flight Club.”

“You should come with me to basketball,” Maria offers. “Say you’re thinking of trying out and want to see them play first. We can even do an informal Flight Club while we’re at it.”

“Informal squared,” Carol says, considering. Her mother might go for it. Big emphasis on “might”.

Maria stands up. “Well, see what you can do? I gotta get back to class before they actually decide I’m pulling a Carol.”

Carol throws a french fry at Maria, who dodges it and flips her friend off as she leaves the cafeteria.

She finishes her lunch early and goes to the administrator’s office to phone home.

Her mother picks up after a couple of rings. “Danvers residence.”

So weird and formal. “Mom, it’s me.”

There is a pointed silence for a moment. “Are you in trouble or did you cause trouble?”

She stifles the urge to be sarcastic. “Neither, thanks. I’m calling to let you know that Flight Club was canceled, but I’d like to use that time to go to a basketball game.”

“What part of grounded wasn’t made clear to you?”

Calm. Don’t mess this up. “Sorry, I didn’t explain it very well. I was thinking about how Flight Club isn’t really, you know, a real club, and that you’re right. I need to be thinking about this stuff and prioritizing my time. I might want to join the ladies basketball team, is what I’m saying.”

“This isn’t some joke, is it?” her mother asks.

“I definitely want to go to the game to secure a future,” Carol says. It isn’t a lie, exactly. She’ll be helping someone else secure a future, but whatever.

“Do you need a ride home whenever it’s over?”

Yes! “Oh, um. I can just take the city bus. I have enough to get home, I think.”

“Straight home after the game, and I’ll expect a full report on whether you want to try out for the team.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks, Mom!”

She hangs up before her mother can say anything else and strolls out of the office, feeling good about things.

The good feeling doesn’t last long, as she remembers she needs to go around picking up Jessica’s homework and class assignments. Any more often and Jess might as well be home-schooled.

That is a sobering thought, and Carol briefly considers calling Jess. But she runs out of time collecting assignments before lunch period ends, and she has to go back to her own classes.

She can always talk for a minute when she drops off the coursework this evening. So why does her stomach twist in knots?

*****

Carol finds Maria in the bleachers, mostly empty save for friends of the players and the occasional parent. The band is not in attendance, as they are for football games, or the boys’ basketball. The mascot is, though, killing time and busting terrible dance moves any time the team scores.

The Beverly Warbirds. None of their teams are particularly great, but the ladies’ basketball team is doing okay. She isn’t totally familiar with all the ins and outs of basketball, but at least she can read a scoreboard.

As Carol sits down next to her, Maria says, “I’m surprised you got the okay. Or did you just not even tell her Flight was canceled?”

Shit. That didn’t even occur to Carol.

Maria laughs at what must be a nonplussed embarrassment on Carol’s face. “For a rebel, Danvers, you have a big blind spot for deception.”

“I prefer people to know I’m being rebellious,” she says, covering her self-consciousness with a snide remark.

“Whatever you say, Flygirl.”

The mascot, a kind of eagle or hawk with a World War II helmet and a snarky smirk, starts dancing up the bleachers, coming straight for them.

“What is this joker doing?” Maria asks. Carol checks around them, but there really is no one else for the mascot to be heading towards.

“Being an obnoxious bird,” Carol says loudly, but this doesn’t seem to affect the kid in the costume.

She tries to remember if she knows who the mascot is, but it’s something of a closely-guarded secret, and Carol understands why. Their entire purpose is to draw attention to themselves, and that means the negative attention, too.

The mascot gets up near them and Carol leans back on her bench, arms folded in front of her. Maria leans forward, eyes sparkling with devilish excitement.

The mascot mimes a lasso and pretend throws it at Carol. She shrugs and turns her head away from the mascot.

“They say if you ignore it, it’ll go away,” she says, and Maria snorts.

The mascot makes an exaggerated brow swipe with a wing, and turns to Maria with the pretend lasso.

Maria’s grin drops. “Now I know you’re not about to put a noose around my neck, thunder chicken.”

The mascot backs away, wings up in front of it in a placating gesture. Carol stifles a laugh, because she isn’t sure if Maria is making a joke or not. She doesn’t know her well enough to gauge just yet.

The mascot goes off to find less hostile fare, and Carol waits for Maria to do or say something.

Finally, after Maria deadpan stares at the mascot for longer than is comfortable, she cracks a grin. “Whatever white boy is in there just saw his life flash before his eyes.”

Carol heaves a sigh of relief. “I thought you were being serious. That was tense.”

Maria holds up a hand and waves it back and forth. “I don’t make lynching jokes unless I’m making a point.”

“Point is noted,” Carol says. “He probably should have known better.”

“But did you see the way he scampered off?” Maria asks, and they settle into comfortable laughing. The moment of tension ends and they watch the game for a couple more minutes.

After the first period ends, Maria says, “You know, it’s weird that we’re like the only two people in the school who really give a damn about flying.”

“The rest of Flight would probably have something to say about that.”

Maria’s head shakes. “Come on, you know what I mean. They’re… hobbyists, at best. They like the planes and everything, but it’s not their thing. Not like it’s yours. Not like it’s mine.”

“Fair enough. Why’s it weird, though?”

Maria points at the mascot. “He might be a bird now, but the Warbirds are military aircraft. Or used to be. They reenvisioned the look of the school after Vietnam, and the mascot came along for the ride.”

Carol knows all this, but she lets Maria talk.

“We’ve got a school named after military birds, Stark brought a company here, we’re in close proximity to Hanscom Air Force Base and that other one on the edge of Boston, the secret one that isn’t too secret.”

Carol says nothing about the “not so secret” S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. She says instead, “And Top Gun just came out a few years ago, I get it. We’re primed for a hotbed of flyboys, and there just, really aren’t any around here.”

Maria watches the second period start, with one of the girls on the opposing team stealing the ball from one of the Warbirds. “I don’t know, Carol, it just feels like there’s no opportunity for me, even without the interest elsewhere.”

Carol doesn’t want to say anything that’ll make Maria jealous, as she is on a good track and even has ROTC-like classes. Maria doesn’t know most of this, but it doesn’t make Carol feel any better about it.

“Still no word on ROTC?”

“It’s like black girls don’t exist to them or something.”

“I’m sure that’s--” Carol stops, as she is pretty sure the bullshit she was about to say wouldn’t be received well. “It’s stupid, is what it is. You have to go join a sports team for them to even look your way.”

“That’s not the only reason I’m here,” Maria says. “You notice anything about the way this game is played?”

Carol watches the Warbirds on the court, not really having a sense of what they’re doing or why, except that they pass the ball and attempt to get close to the hoop to shoot. “Lot of fancy maneuvers,” she says.

Maria shakes her head. “Imagine this is a dogfight over a target. The ball is the missile.”

Carol sees it, then. The ball, a missile, has to make it to the hoop, its target. The opposing team is anti-air, and fighter jets. The teammates are dodging and curling, trying to find an opening for the missile. They swoop in, but anti-aircraft speckles them with flak, and they abandon their run, passing missile duty to someone else, waiting for their chance. That jet uses the cover of the anti-aircraft device to create space between it and the defending jet. Space creates opportunity. The missile, inside the defense perimeter, unmolested, rockets toward the target, and _BOOM!_

The ball slides into the rim’s circumference, and the ladies high five and jog down the court, ready to defend against a missile, now.

The tension of the conversation breaks as Carol laughs with delight. They spend the rest of the game strategizing as if it were an aerial battle, occasionally fending off more weird flirts from the Warbirds mascot. At one point he does a diving slide across the bleacher bench in front of them, and stops in a casual pose, bobbing his head up and down at them suggestively.

Carol and Maria share a quick glance between them, grin, and shove him off the bench so that he tumbles down a couple more benches, into an angry mother yelling at her daughter to “get her arms up!” over and over.

They have a brief tussle where the mother swats at the mascot with some pamphlet, and the mascot backs away, bowing and scraping. Altogether it makes for an entertaining end.

When the game is over, and the Warbirds scrape by with a four point victory, Maria’s eyes twinkle. Carol knows the look. Maria found her sport. Carol isn’t interested for herself, but she is glad for her friend.

“So are you gonna go talk to the coach?” Carol asks.

Maria nods. “It’s iffy on if they’ll let me join, with my schedule stuff.”

Carol asks, “What schedule stuff? You got a job after school?”

Maria’s shoulders tense up, and Carol is sure she’s about to tell a lie.

“I have a babysitting gig after school, most days.”

“Oh yeah? Some little snot factory for a family friend or something?” She doesn’t really care that Maria is being evasive. Everyone has a thing they hold tight.

“Something like that. You wanna come with and talk to the coach? Be nice to have a friend on the team.”

Friend. “I’d rather be your friend in the bleachers. I’ll come to as many games as I can manage.”

“With your internship and all, I get it.” Her words say she gets it, but her posture is sullen and sulky.

Carol doesn’t know how to avoid talking about her internship in a way that doesn’t make Maria envious, and she tries not to bring it up at all.

“I need to catch a bus home,” Carol says. “You drive?”

Maria shakes her head as they hop off the bleachers. “My dad needed the car for some job over in Dover today.”

“So far,” Carol comments.

“Half his paycheck goes to gas, it seems. I’ll catch you later?”

“Yeah. Next time I come to a game, you’re gonna be sinking missiles and flying circles around these fools.”

She nods and they mock salute in parting. “Wings up, Danvers.”

“Always up, Rambeau.”

*****

Carol rides the city bus, thinking about Jess, Maria, and Hank. About her family and friends. Her internship. Every minute that Carol spends with Maria and Hank is one less minute she can spend with Jess. But if Jess knew that Carol is thinking about putting her own life on hold, she would slap Carol silly and call her a fool.

It isn’t my responsibility to be there every minute of every day, she thinks. I want to be there. I want her to need me there. But she wouldn’t want it. She wants to live a life worth living in the time she has left. Carol can do that for her. Be there on her sickest days to clean up the puke. Be there on her good days to maximize life.

To live it like she’s dying.

But Jessica’s bucket list is filled with things like “eat at a five star restaurant” and “bungee jump off the Golden Gate Bridge”. Some of that is feasible, some is not. Almost all of it requires money.

A mental click happens, and she realizes she’s near that ice cream shop that was hiring yesterday. Ice Dream, Inc.

She isn’t exactly employably presentable, with her wavy spiked mohawk and leather jacket, but she can at least go inside and check the place out. She has no desire for ice cream after the mountain of pie and cream from last night.

She pulls the wire to signal to the driver that she wants to get off at the next stop, and hops off, suddenly nervous. She hasn’t had a real job before. She hasn’t even gotten permission to get a job yet.

She walks the short distance to Ice Dream, Inc. and sees the woman from the day before. She is in another smart dress, this time with an apron on over it that says, “Kiss the Cream” with big, cartoony, lipstick lips on it. She is smiling and bobbing her platinum blonde hair for the boys at the register, as she takes their money and doesn’t give back change, instead adding it to the tip jar, which they only titter about as they walk away with their ice cream cones.

What a woman.

There are two other employees besides her, one girl Carol vaguely recognizes from school, about her age with a bubbly enthusiasm to match the woman’s, and a sort of sullen man closer to Tony’s age, maybe a year or two older. Long dark brown hair tied back in a braid, a nice, strong chin, almost black eyes. Native American if she had to guess. He looks bored as he scoops some rainbow-colored sherbet out of a large cooler.

She gets in line, thinking maybe some sherbet would be okay, fishing in her pockets for enough money to buy.

As Carol gets up to the counter and is ready to place an order and ask the man about their hiring, the blonde woman trades places with him as smoothly as if they’d choreographed it, and smiles brightly at Carol.

In a posh British accent, something Carol would only hear in a stage play of Pride & Prejudice, the woman says, “Welcome to Ice Dream, Inc. Are you here for ice cream, or something else?” She waves a hand over the sherbet and frozen yogurt in front of her, but Carol can’t shake the feeling that this woman means something different.

“Oh,” she says, flustered. “Uh. Sherbet, I guess. I’m actually here about the job? You put the sign up yesterday.” She points back to the window where she saw it yesterday, only to realize it isn’t there, now.

“I guess I’m just here for the sherbet,” she finishes lamely.

“Nonsense,” the woman says, scooping out a big helping of lime sherbet onto a waffle cone, what Carol was going to ask for but realizes that she didn’t get a chance to.

“Does that backfire on you often, guessing what people want?” she asks.

“It would if I guessed wrong. I have something of a talent, you see.”

She expects the price of a single scoop at this place to be well over a dollar, all Carol has, but the woman rings her up for only fifty cents, and Carol feels a strong urge to leave the change behind. She resists the urge, giving only an extra quarter to the tip jar, as she might need the quarter to call home.

The woman, Emma by her nametag, smiles brightly again. “Well, thank you for the tip. John, if you would?” She gestures to the Native American man, who takes up the register and puts on a super fake smile for the couple behind Carol.

Carol licks the lime sherbet, and her eyes widen. It’s good! Like, surprisingly great. Nobody makes good lime sherbet. She is on her way to a brain freeze when Emma comes from behind the counter and offers her hand to Carol. With her free hand, Carol shakes the delicate-seeming woman’s hand. She’s working in heels, too, for Christ’s sake.

“Emma Frost, owner of Ice Dream, Inc.”

“Carol Danvers, owner of a sticky hand and a happy tongue.” Cool it, Danvers, she thinks. Don’t be a bitch, and definitely don’t be a dingus.

“Let’s begin your interview, shall we?” Emma waves a hand to a door that leads into the back of the shop, which is small and cramped. There are a couple shelves full of ice cream cones, paper towels, paper trays, and other ice cream shop things, as well as a small office, a schedule on the wall, and a large walk-in freezer.

“I figured you weren’t hiring, Emma. I mean, Mrs--” She glances at Emma’s hand and sees no ring. “Miss Frost.”

“Emma is fine, dear. To be truthful, I only needed one, and I hired the young lady out front last night, but I think we might be a hit. Never enough workers.”

Emma offers Carol a seat in the tiny office, and Carol tries not to drip her lime sherbet on the carpet.

“So your name isn’t really Frost, is it?” Carol asks, and then berates herself.

Emma laughs. “It really is, Miss Danvers. You don’t have to be nervous, here. First, just tell me, are you old enough to work?”

The interview goes like this for a few minutes, just Emma asking questions and making notes. Carol does her best not to make silly jokes or be sarcastic, and the longer the interview goes on, the harder this becomes. She feels like Emma knows everything she’s going to say before she says it, and she starts second-guessing her answers. Trying to figure out what Emma wants to hear rather than just being herself.

Emma says, “Dear, I am going to ask you a personal question. Is that okay?” Carol nods.

“Can you get out of your own head? Your interview started so well, and the longer we go, the less of you I think I am talking to.”

“Can you get out of my head?” Carol jokes, and Emma smiles coldly. “Sorry, yes. Probably. It’s just this looks like a good job that pays well, and if you can work around my bizarre schedule, it would be nearly perfect.”

“I can assure you, it is a very good job. Serving satisfaction to the people is its own reward, but getting paid is also very nice.”

“People seem to tip well, here.”

“They’re very generous.”

“It’s very good ice cream. Or sherbet at the least.”

That turns Emma’s iciness back into a warm glow. “Thank you, Carol. A thing worth doing is a thing worth doing well, even if that thing is merely making cold sugar taste like a hot summer day, or a first kiss.”

Carol’s face reddens at that, and Emma smiles again. “Tell me, do you think the soccer moms and the grandpas will frequent a place that lets you work there?”

Carol has been waiting for this pivot in the conversation, but she is not prepared for how direct and mean the question is framed.

“You mean, a pierced and mohawked rebel?” Emma says nothing, and Carol goes on. “I don’t really care about them. If that means I can’t work here, then I guess I’ll go get a paper route or something.”

“There is the refreshing honesty I caught a glimpse of earlier,” Emma says, clapping her hands together.

“Refreshing doesn’t pay the bills, Emma.”

“In a manner of speaking, that is the only thing that can. The ice cream is good, yes?” Carol nods. “John isn’t exactly the cheeriest person, but so long as he isn’t outright rude, we still bring in the tips.”

“So… I can be myself, so long as ‘myself’ isn’t a jerk?”

“I wish to hire hard workers. Everything else is ephemeral.”

Ephemeral. Who talks like this?

“So let’s talk about this internship.”

“Sure. I go out four days a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Four hours after school, and eight hours on Saturday.”

“Noted. What do you do at this internship? Anything that may be relevant to your work here?”

The things I could tell you, Carol thinks, images of Howard Stark, fighter jets, experimental planes, and sparring with Melinda May rushing through her head. “It’s mostly more classwork and some ROTC-like stuff. It is for Stark Aviation.”

Emma gets very quiet for a moment, then asks, “As in, Howard Stark?”

Carol nods. That seemed a very practiced question, to her, but maybe it's just how very British Emma is.

“Is Howard as handsome in person as he is on those magazine covers?”

“He’s kind of goofy, if we’re sharing secrets.”

“So you have met him?”

Carol gets quiet now. “I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say. I signed an NDA, even though I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that, either.”

“Well, Carol Danvers, I would be remiss if I did not hire a young lady who landed such a coveted internship. Can you start now?”

“Oh, uh…” Carol hesitates. “I’m kind of grounded right now? Is that a big deal? It’s not a big deal, right?”

“I suppose it depends on what you were ‘grounded’ for, doesn’t it? You can begin on Thursday.”

Carol signs some papers, and takes home a slip she has to have signed by a parent. She’s already going to be in trouble for being late, but maybe “Hey, I got a job” will soften the blow.

She rushes out to catch the bus.

*****

The ice cream shop’s doors close and lock that evening, the bubbly new girl departed. John Proudstar and Emma Frost pull the shades, going into the back room, and into the freezer. The trap door in the bottom of the freezer opens, and out pops Angelica Jones, a woman in her mid-twenties, fiery-haired and impatient. Steam rises off her in great quantities, and she shivers.

“Are we really going to do this every day?” she complains.

“We’re just getting started, my dear,” Emma says, following her down into the secret basement. “And besides, John really likes the rocky road.”

John grunts, but doesn’t disagree. Emma waits until he latches the trapdoor, and throws off her cutesy apron, runs a hand through her hair, and hardens into her Diamond Form just to get the ice cream off of her, before going back to normal.

“Never get tired of that,” Angelica says. “You hired another outsider? Why take the risk?”

Carol Danvers. The things Emma learned from probing her mind. “Her mind was open to me, and what a mind it was.”

“She’s just a stupid kid, what’s up?” Angelica asks, as they enter the command center beneath the ice cream shop.

“She knows Howard Stark. She has access to his tech.” Emma Frost cracks her knuckles. “So in a way, the Hellions now have access to his tech.”

Angelica Jones and John Proudstar grin with Emma as they recognize the unexpected gift they’ve received.

Now if only Emma could understand how Carol resisted her mental pushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fans of Carol and Maria, rejoice? With Emma Frost and her Massachusetts Hellions in the mix, all the pieces are just about in place for this part of this fic! Next chapter, Carol is back at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility for another day of interning.


	5. May Never Just Spars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol spars with Melinda May and struggles to keep up, then shadows Dr. Susan Storm on rounds and tries not to make an ass of herself.

Carol falls to the mat again, sweat splashing as she rolls. She gets to her feet again quickly, but Melinda May gives her no chance to recover and prepare as she comes in for another grapple and toss.

Carol dives to the side, but May pulls Carol’s leg and yanks her back, stopping her forward momentum and slapping her face against the sparring mat.

“Pause!” Tank Jones yells from the sidelines, and Carol grunts. He probably thinks he is doing her a favor, giving her time to rest.

“I’m fine!” she hisses, jumping to her feet and throwing herself back into the sparring match. May grins and lets Carol advance, dodging blows and moving like water around her grapple attempts, always slipping free when Carol is certain she’s got the woman this time.

She lets out an inarticulate yell of rage while attacking, only to have the wind knocked out of her when she gets flipped onto her back. She gasps and coughs, sucking in air that suddenly seems to be made of lead. Reilly “Tank” Jones steps between May and Carol while Carol wheezes on the ground, learning how to breathe again.

“I said Pause,” he says again, and May shrugs. Carol takes in a hitching breath, sitting up and leaning on one elbow while she fights the urge to vomit, or pass out. Maybe both.

“It’s these stupid electrodes you’ve got all over me,” she complains after she heaves and doesn’t vomit, knowing it isn’t the electrodes, but hating to admit she can’t even land a hit on May.

Carol never thought she would miss classwork so much, but this is almost torture. Almost. She was so close last time, she could almost feel the heat from May’s skin.

“Excuses keep a girl grounded in our line of work,” May says, offering Carol a hand up, which Carol begrudgingly accepts. She thinks fleetingly she might try to trip up May, but that wouldn’t be sporting in a sparring match.

She almost does it anyway.

From an intercom, the Doctor whom Carol met the other day speaks. “Take five while we review your vitals, Carol. Injury is different than a little pain, and you’re pushing for the former.”

Carol’s shoulders tense. She wants to argue, but there’s no point, and she really could use a breather. She joins May and Reilly at the water cooler, and they both politely nod to her. 

“At some point I’m going to hit you, Goose,” she says, drenching her face with a cold splash of water and then drinking deeply.

“You can keep believing that if you want,” May says. “Hope springs eternal and all that.”

Carol scoffs, and then picks at one of the heavy electrode pads on her chest. “Why am I the one wearing these? They’re itchy.”

May and Reilly share a glance, but Carol can’t read anything from it. “I think they’re just trying to get your measure, Danvers,” Reilly finally says. “You’re basically a toddler to these people--I don’t believe that, but they probably do--and they just want to make sure you can handle the punishment.”

“It’s definitely punishment,” Carol mutters, drinking deeply a second time, letting the cold water run rigid down her throat and radiate from her stomach in chilling waves.

“It’s a Wednesday,” May says, shrugging and rolling her shoulders. “I might lay it on a little thick, but your basic training and boot camp is going to be relentless. The obstacle courses, the running, the push ups, the sleep deprivation… this is cake in comparison.”

“Don’t sell me so hard on it, now, Goose,” Carol jokes. She knows it’s going to be hard. She can put up with a little punishment. 

“I’m just saying, they don’t take it easy on the fairer sex. If anything, they push us harder. We have to want it. Really, really need it.”

“I definitely want it,” Carol says. “I can handle it.”

“Tank, do you concur?” May asks.

Reilly’s throat clears and he says, “Probably. Anyone who can handle throwing up on herself and not quitting is pretty solid, in my book.”

Carol groans. “Ugh, thanks for the reminder.”

May and Reilly grin and she says, “No problem, Cheeseburger.”

Carol smiles back at their using her call sign. Air Force pilots treating her almost as equals. She wonders if May gets to fly combat as a secret agent. 

The doctor comes back on the intercom, and Carol spies her behind some plexiglass looking up from a monitor. “Okay, Miss Danvers, we are going to go again. If you can, concentrate on your breathing. Your heart rate spikes and your breathing becomes too shallow and rapid to compensate for a prolonged melee.”

“Yes, sir, Miss Doctor Doctor.” She realizes she doesn’t know her last name, and endeavors to ask after the sparring session.

Control your breathing. Control your emotions. Control your body. Everyone wants her to rein herself in. When has a little chaos ever been a bad thing?

She takes a boxer’s stance, while May adopts a martial arts stance that Carol doesn’t recognize, except from old movies her dad likes to watch.

May waits, and Carol goes in for a right hook, which May easily deflects and shoves Carol back. May darts in and attempts to grab Carol around the waist, but Carol is expecting it this time and she throws herself backwards. Only May doesn’t stop, and Carol is thrown off-balance just as May barrels into her chest, knocking her on her ass again.

“Again.” The voice from the intercom is bored, and frustrated. “Breathing, Danvers.”

“I’ll breathe, all right,” she mutters, getting to her feet once more.

It takes even less time for her to be flipped and thrown to the ground, where her lungs press all the oxygen out of her body and she struggles to draw a breath. She hates this feeling. This deprivation. Of her body refusing to save itself.

She stands back up after a few moments, panting, and wipes sweat from her face. May also looks bored now, and Reilly’s face is more worried than anything.

Control your breathing. Watch. Wait. Do something unexpected.

“Again.”

How do you surprise a master fighter? Come in too hot, and she uses your momentum against you. Try to use her momentum against her, and she holds back because she knows what you’re trying to do.

Get her to commit to a mistake. 

She rushes in, pretending to go for a grapple. May sees the feint and sidesteps, pushing Carol’s back to throw her off-balance again. Carol breathes. She yells as she corrects her balance, and throws herself at May. May spins, tripping Carol and using her momentum against her.

But Carol was waiting for it. She tucks into the trip and spins as she rolls, sweat flinging every which way.

She breathes. 

May, expecting to have a moment to adjust her stance, is not ready for Carol to shoot up from the ground into a tackle. Her shoulder connects solidly with May’s gut, knocking the wind from her and sending them toppling in a heap.

May wastes no time, and throws the girl off. Carol doesn’t even care. She got one up on Goose!

She lays on the exercise mats, panting and chuckling. For just a moment, she felt a surge of strength, of adrenaline, course through her, and her speed matched her desire. Her power matched her faux anger.

“Again.”

She groans and struggles to her feet, and the sparring continues.

 

After another agonizing session of being thrown, tossed, chucked, flipped, tripped, and spun into the ground, the intercom voice calls a halt and comes down from the observation room.

The pretty blonde woman, Susan, spares a glance for Goose and Tank, and dismisses them. They grumble and take their leave, May wiping down with a towel as she goes. Carol enjoys the spike of righteousness in her chest at managing to take down May even once. She will have to work even harder going forward, if she wants to do it again. Consistently.

“You all have a funny way of trying to run me off,” Carol jokes, and Susan doesn’t laugh.

“There’s no need to run you off. If we were done with this arrangement, you would just be gone.” She looks up from her chart and motions to Carol’s chest. “You can remove the sensors, now.”

“I guess joke’s are not a good ice breaker for you, huh?” Carol says, grabbing a towel and burying her face in it for a moment. She happily starts tearing the little sticker pads over the electrodes off her chest, wincing at each only a little.

“This is a government agency, Ms. Danvers. You are expected to comport yourself with something befitting the position, instead of this reckless abandon for appearance and decorum.”

That raises the hackles on Carol’s soul. “Am I? The people who brought me into this don’t seem to care, Miss Doctor Doctor.”

“It’s Storm,” she says. “Dr. Susan Storm. If you’re not even going to learn my name…”

But the last name hits her hard. Storm. “Like Johnny Storm?”

Susan Storm’s eyes narrow. “That’s right. You attend the same school as my brother.” Unbelievable.

“He tried to kick my ass once.”

She sighs. “I assume you did something to aggravate him? My brother is a hothead, but he knows better than to start trouble.”

Carol guffaws directly in the Doc’s face. “If existing is doing something, then sure. Your brother is a grade-A shit-starter, Doc.”

“I’ll thank you to refrain from language like this, and talking about my personal life.”

“Glad to, Doctor Storm. Though the next time I show up with a bruised rib I didn’t get from sparring with Melinda May, I’ll be sure to swing by and let you know who did it.”

Susan Storm doesn’t respond to this, only shrugs and holds out a chart.

“This is a quick graph of your vitals during the sparring session. Here,” she points, “is each place where you were knocked down or tripped or flipped. And here,” she points to a big spike that actually leaves the graph paper, “is where you took the initiative away from Airman May, to take her down.”

“I broke the machine?”

Susan Storm scoffs. “Hardly. Sometimes adrenaline causes the body to spike outside of normal parameters. You appear to have had such a moment. It’s tough on the body, Ms. Danvers. You should take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t suppose you have anything going on that you could use help with?” Carol asks. She has an hour to kill after these training sessions, before the final two hours she will be shadowing a couple soldiers making rounds on the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Wearing a flak jacket and helmet, she hopes. 

Carol doesn’t like this woman, but she also doesn’t have much time to find something to occupy her hour before she gets assigned physical fitness instead.

Dr. Storm makes a face that suggests she’d rather eat a dog turd, but Carol smiles in what she hopes will placate the woman. “What better way to ensure I take it easy than to let me help with lab work, right?”

Susan Storm sighs and shrugs. “I suppose you can hold the chart and check boxes while I perform physical exams. You’re unlikely to mess that up.”

“Your confidence in me is earth-shattering.”

“Confidence is earned, Carol Danvers. Take a shower and find me in the lab.”

She leaves behind a still-panting Carol, dabbing a towel on her chest and wondering if it is a good idea to ask for favors from people who do not like her.

 

Physical exams are not what Susan Storm is up to in her lab. Or at the least not in the “general wellness” idea of a physical exam. She has several patients with their own rooms, all of whom are bandaged or sedated to the teeth. 

At the entrance to the first room, where the man inside is heavily bandaged from what appear to be burns, Carol hesitates. 

Dr. Storm waves her in. “A rebel with a soft stomach is no rebel at all, Ms. Danvers.”

“Does it count if my stomach is the part that wants to rebel?” She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to bristle at being dismissed as a “rebel” right now. 

“I can send you back to run windsprints or whatever they like to do,” she offers.

“No. This is okay. I can do this. Uh… Give me the chart, please, Dr. Storm.”

All of the jokes die in her throat as she is faced with a cruel reminder of pain and mortality.

“Is. Are you awake, sir?” Carol asks, and the man grunts softly.

“We bring him out of sedation for these little sessions. How are you today, Mason?” Her bedside manner is polite, but cold.

He mumbles something, and Dr. Storm says, “Mark that down, please, Ms. Danvers.”

“Mark what down? He didn’t say, you know, words.”

“He said he was cold, and bored.”

There is no way he said either of those things.

She marks it down regardless, and stands closer to try and suss out the responses he makes to Susan’s queries.

Mostly they sound like grunts of pain and asks for sedation, but Carol does her best to both write down what he says, and not vomit. It wouldn’t be a badass moment if she vomited in front of a very injured patient.

She needs to stop thinking about it.

She can’t stop thinking about it. Her gorge rises and she is on the verge of excusing herself, when Susan places a hand on her shoulder.

She hisses a whisper, “Get it together, Danvers. This is the kind of thing you have to get used to seeing if you’re going to be involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. People get hurt, people die, and sometimes the people that get hurt would be better off dead.”

“And which one is Mason?”

“None of your concern.” She turns back to Mason. “Apologies, Mr. Peterbilt. Interns can be so hard to train.”

Carol sucks it up as Dr. Storm continues asking questions. She marks down everything she thinks she hears, and is all too happy to leave the room when Dr. Storm re-sedates Mason Peterbilt, sending him back into blissful unconsciousness.

Carol doubles over and heaves in the hallway outside the room. She can do this. She has to stand strong and prove to Johnny Storm’s bitch of a sister that she isn’t going to lose it.

I’m not going to lose it. I’m not.

After a half a minute or so of Carol hyperventilating and struggling not to cry, Dr. Storm clears her throat.

Carol stands up to her full height, slightly taller than Susan, and wipes her face to be sure there are no tears. 

“I don’t suppose you thought to warn me,” Carol says.

“Warning you wouldn’t be worth anything. You see, Ms. Danvers, it is in the unexpected that we see who people truly are. What they can handle. It may surprise you to know that Agent Carter expressly asked me to put you through this.”

It shouldn’t surprise her, but it does. And here Carol thought she and Peggy were becoming, if not friends, something like acquaintances.

“Maybe I’ll need therapy once this is all said and done,” Carol says. “So who is next on the house of horrors?”

That brings Susan Storm to a halt, and she turns briskly on Carol and gets right in her face.

“You will not speak of the suffering of the bravest people in the world so glibly, Ms. Danvers, or I will make it my personal mission to see you removed from this experiment of an internship.”

“I’m--” She is about to say she isn’t, but then she plays back in her head what she said just now, and feels about three inches tall.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again, Dr. Storm.”

Susan’s eyes dart back and forth between Carol’s eyes, as if she can find the lie in one when the other seems to be telling the truth.

“Very well. Come along, Ms. Danvers. We will need to suit up for this next one, as she has a very bad case of radiation poisoning, and is quite a pollutant herself.”

Suit up. What the hell kind of missions are these people performing that they come back horribly scarred or irradiated? Carol thinks maybe this is a lesson, as well. 

She knows one thing for sure: she is going to know exactly who to blame for her nightmares tonight. And probably every night to follow for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a Jess and Carol BFF hang session, so stay tuned in a couple weeks for that!


	6. Time Enough for Jess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol hangs out with Jessica after a long, trying day at her S.H.I.E.L.D. internship, and they think of new things to add to Jess's bucket list.

An afternoon of brutal sparring, terribly injured people, and walking a perimeter for two hours leaves Carol both emotionally and physically exhausted ahead of her evening hanging out with Jess. She has permission to help Jessica with her homework and classwork that she’s been falling behind on, and it’s good to have an excuse while she’s grounded.

Carol goes up to Jess’s room, after an awkward conversation with Jess’s parents about not letting Jess overexert herself. She knocks and enters to find Jess lying on the bed, reading. Some new Stephen King novel called  _ The Dark Half _ .

She smiles and drops the book on her nightstand. “Thought you’d never get here.”

Carol walks stiff-legged to the bed and collapses onto it melodramatically. “I have had a day, for sure.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Carol almost leans into the whole spiel, but decides against it because of the injured people. “It would just make me tired all over again. Before we get into it, do you need any help with anything? Bathroom break, water, destruction of your enemies?”

“I’m all good, Care Bear. All caught up, too. I think I might even get to come to school tomorrow.”

“Good. People are worried about you.”

“Worried doesn’t help anything. I’d rather see them than hear they’re sad for me.”

She makes it so hard for Carol to be compassionate.

Carol sits up. “ _ I’m _ worried about you, Drawed. You keep being flippant and shit, but every week it’s like you get worse and worse. You said you had ‘til you were twenty, but I don’t see how you get past sixteen at this rate.” She fights back the choking up of her voice.

“All the more reason to finish the list and then start working on it.” How is she so complacent? Carol would be furious, or depressed, or somehow both.

She lets it go, though. It will only result in a fight and Carol wants every last minute with her best friend to be happy.

“Where’d we leave off, then?” she asks.

Jess pulls a steno pad from under her pillow and flips to the second page, where she reads, “Bungee jump from the Golden Gate Bridge, steal a kiss from Downtown Julie Brown, try kimchi… Ew. Why did we leave off there? I hate pickled stuff.”

“It’s fermented pickled stuff,” Carol says, sticking her tongue out at Jess. “And you suggested it, not me.”

“That sounds like a lie, but whatever.” She holds the pen and clicks it with her tongue over and over, thinking.

“How about some really wild stuff that I can’t possibly do. Like go to space.”

“Aspirational. How about time travel to the ‘50s and meet Elvis when he was still young and handsome?”

“Adding it to the list.” Jess hesitates after adding it and a couple more implausible things, and Carol waits her out.

Finally she says, “Lose my v-card.”

“Really? You’re gonna put that on the list that presumably your mother and father will see?”

“They won’t, because you’re going to keep the list for me. And why wouldn’t I put it there? There’s plenty of eligible guys in school who would probably jump my bones the moment I opened my blouse.” She pretends to tear open her shirt and heave bosoms.

Carol’s face reddens and she looks away, inspecting the dust jacket on the King novel. “On the list, then. Are you gonna put ‘fall in love’ somewhere on it, too?”

“You know I only have enough love in my heart for you, Scary Beary.”

Carol groans and tosses a pillow at Jess’s face, but Jess drops under it and tackles Carol on the bed, where they scuffle for a moment, laughing and tickling. Then Carol remembers that Jess is sick, like real sick, and she struggles to break free, falling off the bed and bumping her ass on the carpet in the process.

“Ow, holy shit,” she whines, caught between laughing and crying. “Is your carpet made out of iron?”

“Must be your bony butt,” Jess says, offering Carol a hand up. Carol takes it and lets herself be pulled up, rubbing at her tailbone. Jess really does seem to be okay tonight.

“This bony butt requires a soft pillow.”

“As it turns out, I have many.” Jess pulls another pillow from the ground and gives it to Carol.

Carol situates herself more comfortably and then inspiration strikes. “Ooh, I have one for the list. Skydiving.”

Jessica frowns. “No thank you.”

“But you’ve already got bungee jumping!”

“There’s several thousand feet and being tethered to something in difference. That’s firmly on your bucket list, not mine.”

“Well, damn. I guess… travel abroad?”

“That one’s likely to happen…” Jess mumbles.

“You never know. Maybe we could take a trip to Paris next summer.”

Her frown doesn’t go away, but she says, “Put it on the list, then.”

Jess holds a pillow to her chest and leans her chin on it. She looks tired, but not sick tired. 

“Want to take a break? I can get us a soda.”

“Not allowed any right now. Sugar and sweeteners supposedly complicate the treatments.” Carol feels bad now that Jess had a milkshake at the diner the other day.

“Bummer. What if we cross something off the list tonight?”

Jess laughs ruefully. “Yeah, let’s get that spacewalk out of the way.”

“Something easy. We could ask your folks to go into Boston and find some kimchi.”

Jess makes a face, then writes a new line on the steno pad and tosses it to Carol. “I want to do this one.”

Carol reads the line. 

  1. _Sleepover with my best friend._



Carol fights the sudden hitch in her chest and the water in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “Your parents probably won’t like Hank McCoy sleeping over.”

Jess laughs. “Bitch.” She throws her pillow at Carol, and Carol isn’t ready for it. She gets a face full of fabric and nearly rolls off the bed before catching herself on Jess’s legs. She checks her wavy spikes to make sure none of it slumped over from the impact, and grins while they laugh.

“You think your folks will go for it?” Jess asks. 

Carol throws her legs over the side of the bed and stands. “I’ll make a phone call, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. Kind of running away tends to limit your options.”

“Surprised you got permission to come over at all.”

“I’d come, either way, Jess.” She leans over and puts her forehead against Jess’s head, and they take comfort from each other for several seconds before Carol breathes deeply and sighs. “I’ll be back.”

She leaves her friend to go downstairs and asks to use the phone. Jess’s mother is sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and a book, but the wine looks like it gets more attention than the words. Before Carol calls, she turns back to Jess’s mom and says, “Jess asked me to stay the night. Is that okay?”

Mrs. Drew looks back up at Carol, eyes tired and face drawn. Mostly Jess’s mom just looks wrung out. A terminally sick daughter will do that to you.

She drops the book to the table and waves her hand. “That would be lovely. It will help Jess get to school in the morning.”

“I’m kind of grounded right now, so my parents probably won’t even let me.”

“Your mother mentioned that. It’s only your devotion to my daughter in her time of need that lets you out of the house at all, I’m told.”

Carol sits down across from Jess’s mom. “She’s my best friend, Mrs. Drew.”

“I know. Since grade school. You were always sitting next to each other because of your last names, and you both aren’t any good at keeping your wit to yourselves. A natural pair if I ever saw one.”

Carol blushes. “She’s really important to me. We’ve had each other’s backs for as long as I can remember.”

Mrs. Drew holds her hand out and Carol hesitates before taking it in her own. She feels the squeeze and returns it. “You’ve got other friends, though, don’t you? That Maria girl, and the stocky boy.”

“Hank. Yeah, I guess I’ve got a few.”

“Jess doesn’t.”

“Sure she does,” Carol says, thinking her mother has no idea.

“Oh, she’s got people she’s friendly with. But mostly she doesn’t have time for friends. She barely has time for you.”

“That’s--” Carol starts, angry, but Mrs. Drew interrupts, “I just mean she has to be careful about who she gifts her time to. You are the only one making time for her. You’re the only one still trying to treat her normal. I know that’s what she wants, but it’s so hard to give that to her.”

“It’s the easiest thing in the world,” Carol says, squeezing Mrs. Drew’s hand again. “I try not to think about what happens next. If the treatments stop working, or she just has a really bad downturn. Based on what Jess has told me, when it comes, it’ll happen quick.”

Her mother wipes tears from her eyes and takes a gulp of wine. Her voice breaks. “It’s aggressive, and we’re d-doing everything we can. But yes. It might be another three years, or another three months.”

Three months. Carol’s gut clenches and she lets Mrs. Drew’s hand go. Three months?

“It’s hard to hear, dear, I know. Just be kind, and compassionate. Be the friend she needs. And don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. You look tired.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“I can talk to your mother on your behalf if you need it.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Drew.”

Carol stands and goes to the phone. She doesn’t really know how she’s going to sell this to her mother, let alone her father, who is still quite mad about the whole running away thing.

The line rings, and Carol’s father picks up after a few seconds. 

“Danvers residence.”

“Dad, it’s Carol.”

There’s silence for a moment.

“Aren’t you grounded?”

“Mom gave me permission to help Jess with her schoolwork. She’s coming back to class tomorrow, hopefully, and she needed to catch up a little.”

“So what, you need a ride home?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could stay the night and help Jess get to school in the morning? Her mother already said it’s okay.”

He laughs at her. “Absolutely not. No sleepovers during school weeks. And why are you still doing sleepovers?”

Carol bristles. “It’s not a sleepover, Dad. I’m just helping Jess transition back into school after a couple days out. And I’ve done it before, you know.”

“Marie!” The phone shuffles and her father’s voice is saying something vile and hateful in the background. “Talk to your mother.”

Before Carol can say anything else, Carol’s mother comes on the line. “Is it really necessary for you to be doing this, dear?”

Carol tries not to lose her temper in front of Mrs. Drew. “Not ‘necessary’ but… needful? Jess asked me to stay, and if it helps her get back into the groove of school, I’d like to help.”

“Is Miriam around?”

Carol gladly hands the phone off to Mrs. Drew. She sits impatiently while Mrs. Drew speaks polite and quiet into the phone, still holding the wine glass in her free hand.

“Yes, Marie. I know, it’s unusual. I know she’s grounded.” She pauses to listen. “It’s up to you, but I’d feel better knowing Jess has someone to lean on in the morning.” Another pause. “Ok, I’ll bring her home in a little bit.”

Carol’s shoulders droop in defeat as they say their goodbyes and Mrs. Drew hangs up.

“Thanks for trying, Mrs. Drew.”

She says, “You can call me Miriam, Carol. Anyone who cares as much about my daughter as I do deserves that. Now. I’m going to bring you home so you can get a change of clothes and your school bag.” She smiles and waits for Carol to smile back. 

“For real?”

“For real,” she says, imitating Carol.

“That’s great! Thanks, Mrs.-- Miriam.”

“We’ll leave in a few minutes. Oh, and Carol?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She looks at her glass of wine. “You’ll probably want to drive. Do you know how stick shift works?”

Carol laughs and nods. “Would you believe I learned because I’m trying to talk a friend into letting me drive his Mustang?”

“I would. I really would.”

 

After an awkward drive home and back, Carol lugs her overnight bag and her school bag up to Jess’s room. She finds Jess agonizing over the bucket list steno pad, lying on her stomach on the bed.

“Welcome back,” she says. “I’m not sure whether to write in ‘pull a heist’ or ‘drag race’.”

“Definitely heist.” Carol plops back down on the bed next to Jess. “Hey, your mom was really cool tonight.”

Jess says distractedly, “Cool mom isn’t really part of her repertoire.” She writes in “pull a heist” below “date a billionaire” and Carol snatches up the pad.

“Tony Stark isn’t a billionaire, you know. His family might be, but he’s probably only worth a couple hundred million.”

“You don’t know who I’m thinking about.” Jess snatches the pad back, but her face is flushed and she’s hiding it behind her pile of curls.

Carol lays down on her back next to Jess. “Do you want his number?” She hopes Jess says no. They’ve always joked about flirty Tony, but she’s never really shown interest. And why does it spike her chest with jealousy?

Jess eyes her for a moment and flips onto her back, leaning her head on Carol’s shoulder. They stare up at the ceiling together for a long moment.

“Maybe?” Jess finally says. “I don’t know. He knows I’m sick. I don’t want to go on a pity date.”

“He wouldn’t. He knows I’d hunt him down and kick his ass.”

Jess chuckles and throws her arm around Carol, hugging her close. Carol squeezes the arm thrown across her stomach.

Jess says, “My knight in leather armor. Protect my virtue, Sir Care Bear.” She pretends to swoon.

“I don’t like this game,” Carol says, extricating herself from Jess’s hug. She feels hot and embarrassed and doesn’t know why.

“Aw, c’mon.”

Carol turns on her side and leans her head on her elbow, staring at Jessica. “You’re the one who wrote down ‘lose my virginity’ on the same list as ‘date a billionaire’.”

“Don’t forget ‘steal a kiss from an MTV VJ’.”

“That’s different, though.”

“It’s all hypothetical, anyway. There’s only a few things on this list we could reasonably do.” Jess flips the steno pad back to the first page. “Tony could make a few happen by himself.”

Carol smooths the curls from Jess’s face. “I’ll help you do whatever I can, whenever I can.”

“How about tomorrow, we start figuring out how to tackle the stuff on this list we might actually be able to do. And I’m including San Francisco on that list.”

Carol laughs and then frowns. “I start my new job tomorrow.”

“Ooh, slinging frozen yogurt.”

“If I want my own car before I graduate, it’s the only way.” She doesn’t say she also wants to help pay for some of Jess’s bucket list.

“How’d you convince them to hire you in the first place? Did you take out all your piercings and go in all straight-laced?”

“Fat chance,” Carol says, thumbing her nose ring at Jess. “I went in on a whim, and the lady was kind of spooky. Get this, her name’s actually Frost.”

“No way that’s real.”

“She assured me it was her real name.”

They giggle about it and Carol drops onto her back again. “She said she didn’t care about appearance so long as we could be good with customers, and weren’t jerks. So long as they pay me five bucks an hour, I’d probably put on an ice cream cone and spin signs.”

“Five bucks, you’ll be a millionaire in no time.”

“If I can get twenty hours a week, it’ll add up. Plus we get tip share.”

“Ooh la la, take me to dinner on your stripper singles.”

“We’ll dine finely on happy meals.”

After a few moments of silence, Jess flips back onto her stomach and writes on the bucket list, “Be half as cool as Carol” and she’s red-faced with pleased embarrassment.

Carol grins and leans in close to her, whispers, “You could never be uncool enough for that.” 

Carol hugs Jess, and they lay together, joking and laughing and sometimes on the point of tears. 

It takes hours, around midnight, before they start to yawn. Carol says, “I’ll make the pallet up and go change. If we want any chance at being on time tomorrow, you need to start snoring.”

Jess mumbles, “I don’t snore.” She’s on the verge of sleep already.

“It’s more like a t-rex roar, you’re right.”

Carol goes to stand and Jess pulls her back down. “You can’t leave me.” Her eyes flutter, and she is about to pass out.

Carol lays back down next to Jess, whispers, “I won’t ever leave you.”

Jess mumbles again, “You promise?”

“Cross my heart and all that.” 

Jess smiles, her eyes closed. Her breathing changes, grows louder and heavier. She snores slightly.

Carol grins. She carefully removes Jess’s glasses, tangling her hair in the process, and smooths it back. Jess looks so peaceful and content. The strain of sickness, of constantly being cheerful about it, of pretending it doesn’t bother her; it all melts away and she is just the scared girl Carol grew up with.

Carol manages to put the glasses on the nightstand, and begins trying to stand without waking her friend up. Every time she moves or shifts on the small bed, however, Jess mumbles and twists, her motions erratic, her face contorted in fear.

She clutches at the covers underneath them, and Carol relaxes back onto the bed. She can stay for a while longer, until Jess is in deep sleep.

Within minutes, Carol starts to snore, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late in posting, but I had family in town that knocked the schedule back a ways. I always have a lot of fun writing Carol and Jess chapters, but I also quite enjoyed Carol and Jess's mom having a heart-to-heart. Carol's relationship with her folks is always balanced on a knife's edge, and it's always nice to see her have just a kind, non-sarcastic moment, let her guard down in front of someone else other than Jess. 
> 
> Next chapter should see Carol starting her new job at Emma Frost's ice cream parlor!


	7. A Job Like Any Other?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol's first day on the job at Emma Frost's ice cream shop! She starts receiving headaches out of nowhere, and struggles through the day until her friends Tony, Jessica, and Hank show up.

Carol sits through her work orientation, which consists of Emma talking to her about workplace etiquette, the dress code or lack thereof, and how to work the register before offloading her to John Proudstar. Occasionally during the afternoon, Carol catches Emma staring at her intently, but only ever from the corner of her eye. When Carol glances that way, Emma appears to be writing things down in a ledger. 

She thinks maybe it’s first day jitters, but her paranoia is high today. Why is Emma so interested in a trainee, but not enough to oversee her personally?

John, on the other hand, is… stoic is probably the right word for it, but Carol thinks he’s like a stone statue who occasionally grunts.

She wears an apron and plastic gloves over her tee shirt and jeans, and the job is easy enough if a little stressful trying to remember everything. Before long a slight pain begins in her head.

It begins as a low-grade headache, and after several more scoops of ice cream, it intensifies. It’s like a needle jabbing into the space behind her eyes. Could be allergies, but she’s never suffered too terribly from them in the past.

Maybe she’s allergic to the utensils or an ingredient in the ice cream?

But would that manifest as a headache? Wouldn’t she have trouble breathing, or break out in hives or something?

A gaggle of mothers with their toddlers come in, and John says, “Good luck.” He walks away to join Emma at her table, and they watch her struggle through her headache to deal with four mothers and their four screaming children, who wanted ice cream the moment they walked in the door and are now upset they don’t have it yet.

She does her best to scoop and dish through the worsening migraine, patience thinning.

One of the mothers says, “Oh, you know what? Could you put that in a bowl and put the cone on top? Little Micky’s a messy eater.”

“No problem, ma’am.” She drops the cone upside down into a styrofoam bowl, tils it jauntily as if it’s an ice cream hat, and hands it over the counter. The mother hands it to her toddler to hold, and he immediately tips it onto the ground, where the cone shatters and he screams as if he’s been shot with an uzi.

Her migraine pierces into her concentration, and she grips the ice cream scoop with white-knuckled fury. She can feel it coming; an outburst and probably some profanity is rising up, and the very next thing that happens is going to be her ass getting fired. 

She turns to go anywhere but here, and suddenly Emma is beside her. “Go on and get some more cones in the back, I’ve got these ladies.”

Carol tries to smile, knowing she’s messed up but not really caring in the moment. She retreats into the back as John cleans up the ice cream and Emma puts on the charm for these mothers. The babbling, screaming toddlers continue as the door swings shut behind her, and she rushes into the cooler, trying to block their sound out. 

She clutches weak-kneed to a rack in the cooler, sure her brain is going to explode or seep out of her ears, when suddenly the pain disappears. All the pressure goes away. She drops to the ground in relief, fighting back tears. What in the hell could possibly have caused that? Whatever it was, she sighs heavily and focuses on catching her breath. 

She’s okay. She’s better than okay. She feels perfectly fine again.

Carol stands up, and her foot pings hollowly against the floor. There’s a small hatch embedded in the concrete, probably some temperature controls, and she promptly forgets about it when she shivers and steps back outside the cooler.

She waits another minute or so, looks through the window up front to see if the screaming toddlers are gone, and remembers at the last second to grab more cones from the dry goods shelf.

John is back at the line handling a new customer, an elderly gentleman with large sunglasses, a shock of thinning, going-gray hair and a big bushy mustache ordering a shockingly large amount of ice cream for just himself. Emma thanks the last mother, laden with a cone and a drink as she drags her toddler outside, and graciously thanks her for the dollar tip from what could have only been a two dollar order. In fact, the tip jar seems like it received multiple dollar bills in the bare couple of minutes Carol was in the back.

“John’s got it for a minute, join me in back, won’t you?” Emma says, leading Carol away. 

As she follows Emma, the old man raises his spoon high in the air and exclaims “Excelsior!” before digging into his mountain of ice cream.

Distracted, Carol nearly runs into Emma as she turns on a dime and confronts her.

“I have to apologize for that. That wasn’t just the deep end, it was the Marianas Trench. The only thing worse would have been a peewee baseball team.”

Carol sighs in relief. “Oh thank God, I thought you were firing me.”

“For your first hiccup on your first day? Give me  _ some  _ credit, Ms. Danvers.”

“Sorry. I would have been fine, but I had a headache, like I felt like that dude from Scanners before his head explodes.”

Emma’s lips curl down into a distasteful frown. “I’m not familiar with that movie.”

“Right. Uh. Well… the headache’s gone, so I’m good to get back out there.”

Emma’s eyes narrow as she searches Carol’s face. “You’re sure? There’s no harm in quitting. No shame.”

Is she trying to get me to quit? Forget that.

“Very sure. I’m adjusting. I’m sure it was just allergies or the light or something. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re not, you let me know immediately. I can’t have a child’s… head exploding, all over my soda fountain.”

With that graphic image following her out, Carol takes over for John again. Things go fine for half an hour, as she scoops ice cream, takes payments, thanks customers for their meager tips, cleans up the tables. There is never a dull moment in an ice cream shop.

Then the headache returns. She tries to think about what she’s touched, what she’s done in the last few minutes, that might be causing it.

But as the minutes go by and it begins to intensify again, she excuses herself to the back room. Could it be some side effect of that guy with all the radiation at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility from the day before? Is she getting sick? 

Is she just allergic to hard work, though she’s not exactly killing herself at this job?

Once she gets in the back room, her vision starts to dim and she realizes she’s on the point of passing out.

She grabs onto one of the metal racks to steady herself, and breathes heavily, trying to force her body to stay active, her mind to stay alert.

She white-knuckle grips the metal wires of the shelf and wills her headache to go away. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, only that she can feel… something. That pressure inside her skull diminishes somewhat, and the headache begins to fade. She heaves a great sigh of relief, only to have it come rushing back, pounding at her brain, so hard and so fast she’s sure to be dead in the next few seconds.

Metal shrieks as she pushes back, whispering, “Stop it stop it stop it STOP IT!”

And the pain is gone. The pressure doesn’t just recede; it vanishes.

She feels like she might throw up, but a loud clatter from the dining room distracts her.

Carol releases her vice grip on the shelf, hardly noticing the wires twisted and pressed together from her hands. She rushes back out to find Emma has dropped her ledger and is on the ground collecting loose pages.

“How clumsy of me,” Emma says, hastily gathering page after page of notes. Carol kneels to help, and has the first page in her hand before Emma says, “Oh, dear, not to worry. You can go run the line with John.”

Carol’s eyes scan the page she’s holding, but it’s all unintelligible scribble. Like it’s in code, or a foreign language, using an unfamiliar alphabet.

“Just my own version of shorthand,” Emma says, collecting the page from Carol and standing up, with the rest of her sheaf of papers tucked inside her ledger.

“What happened?” Carol asks. 

Emma looks to John, then at the few customers in the shop. “Gust of wind when the door opened, I suppose. It was rather dramatic, like a ghost was throwing my papers.”

Carol laughs politely at Emma’s joke. “Why do you write in code?”

“It isn’t ‘code’ like I’m some sort of Russian spy, Carol. I just didn’t like the usual shorthand, so I invented my own.”

Carol is mystified by this answer. “Seems like a lot of work for an ice cream shop.”

Emma scoffs. “You suspect this is my only venture. Ms. Danvers, I have many holdings and investments in this city.”

“And yet you’re here all day?”

Emma’s lips curl disdainfully. “Not that I have to explain myself to an employee, but yes. I believe I told you when I hired you that a thing worth doing is a thing worth doing well.”

Carol hesitates. She’s getting on the wrong side of her paranoia. “I guess.”

Emma continues, “I have just started this business, and that means I am on hand for any and all hiccups that may occur. I will step away from daily operations once I am able.”

“You’re right, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Carol says.

“Apparently I do. I’m not mad at you, Ms. Danvers, but I would expect a little more discretion about my personal affairs.”

Carol’s shoulders slump. She messed up again just trying to say what she felt. “I meant I’m sorry. I think it’s just first day jitters and that headache.”

“Did it come back?” Emma doesn’t look particularly concerned, but her voice is convincing enough.

“Briefly, but I think it’s gone for good. If it’s all right with you, Ms. Frost, I’ll go back to work now.”

“That will be fine.”

Another twenty minutes pass by, with Carol pretending at saccharine sweetness for each new customer. The thicker she lays it on, the bigger the tips become. She’s right at that half an hour mark when some familiar faces come through the door.

Tony, Hank, and Jessica.

She’s mortified and elated all at once to see them. Jessica comes in first, a big goofy grin on her face, with Hank and Tony following behind arguing about some principle of physics.

Carol taps John’s shoulder. “I’ve got these three.”

“Sure?” When he speaks at all, it’s in as few words as possible. It’s unnerving.

“Yeah, I’ve got ‘em.”

John shrugs and disappears into the back of the store, while Emma continues writing in her ledger.

“Working girl,” Jessica says, face beaming.

“Gotta pay for my drug habit somehow.”

“Carol!” Tony says. “Settle an argument for us, would you?”

“Is it sciency?” 

“Barely.” Carol shrugs and Tony continues, “So if you traveled to an alternate dimension, what happens to the you that is already there?”

“What?”

Hank says, “Supposing alternate dimensional theory is true--”

“Hold up,” Carol interrupts. “Whatever technobabble you’re about to throw at me, I agree with Tony.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Jessica warns.

“What does that mean?”

Hank says, “It means you just agreed to an interpretation of multiverse theory in which Tony Stark exists simultaneously in all universes, and is the dimensional anchor upon which all realities spin.”

Jessica laughs. “Told you.”

“I retract--”

“Too late,” Tony says. “Multiverse Tony needs ice cream.”

Carol groans. “This is why you’re single.”

“Or am I? If any one of my alternate reality selves is in a relationship, aren’t we all?”

Carol clears her throat. “You have to order something or get out of line.”

“Iced tea for me,” Jessica says. 

The others order the weirdest ice cream on the menu, and Carol dips a little extra for good measure. While she is ringing them up, barely two bucks, Tony shoves a five dollar bill into the tip jar, and Carol glares at him.

“I can make it twenty?” he offers, and she glowers. 

Carol puts on her happy face with some effort and says, “Thanks for stopping in, may all your Ice Dreams come true.”

This elicits an awful series of laughs from the trio, and Jess spares another smile for Carol as they go take a seat.

Carol sighs. She’s working, but normally she’d be there with them, joking, laughing, flirting. Tony is flirting an awful lot, and Jessica’s health is improved enough that she flirts right back. Hank looks awkwardly around, as if he realizes he is kind of being a third wheel.

“Carol,” Emma says from her table, “Let John take over for a minute and join me.”

Carol nods, thinking to step into the back to get John, but he appears through the doors as if on cue. Carol thinks this is it. She’s done something wrong and now she’ll be canned. So long ice cream money.

But when she sits down, Emma closes her notebook and smiles. “Despite a few small things, you did quite well today. You didn’t spill any ice cream on the floor yourself, didn’t make the wrong order, didn’t spend all your time filing your nails or hiding from work. And most importantly, you knew to leave the situation when you were about to say something you’d regret to a customer.”

“To be fair, I wouldn’t have regretted saying it.”

Emma deadpans Carol, but Carol doesn’t back down. “Sarcasm’s part of the package, unfortunately, Ms. Frost.”

“So long as you know when and where to deploy it.”

“I’ll do my best.” Carol stands, thinking the conversation is over, but Emma clears her throat. “Yes?”

“Your next day is Sunday, noon to close if you’re up for it.”

Eight hours is good money. “Sunday’s a busy day, isn’t it?”

“The tips will overflow.”

“Sounds good, Emma.”

“And Carol?” She waits. “You can take the rest of the night off. You’ll get paid for the last hour. Consider it a first day bonus.”

“Really?” Carol is suspicious.

“Yes, go hang out with your friends. But do clean up after yourselves. And John?” She waves the man over and John holds his hand out to Carol. In his fist is a wad of cash, and Carol notes the tip jar is empty, save a few coins.

“What’s this?”

“Tradition, newbie,” John says, handing over a stack of ones and the one five that Tony put in. There’s probably $50 in that stack, and Emma’s just giving it all to Carol?

“Are you serious? This is more than I’ll make all day Sunday.”

“We treat our employees well, Ms. Danvers. Have a good night, and I will see you Sunday for the church crowd.”

Carol thanks them both, and stuffs the wad of bills into her pocket as she pulls her apron off and rolls it up, heading over to her friends.

“This job is awesome,” she says, sliding into the booth next to Hank. 

“Are you done?” Jess asks. “Thought you worked ‘til close.”

“First day bonus, and the tips were really good. I’ll have more money than Tony Stark soon.”

“That’s cute,” Tony says. “We’re still talking about my many amazing selves in other realities.”

“We most certainly were not,” Hank counters, and Tony shrugs.

“I was.”

Jess elbows him playfully. “There’s only enough room for one Tony in all the multiverse, and we’ve got him.”

“For better or worse,” Tony says.

Carol smirks. “Definitely worse.”

They laugh and joke while having ice cream and drinks. It pleases Carol to see Jess out and about, but her friend is a little muted today. She doesn’t look tired, just quiet, like something’s on her mind.

And Hank keeps glancing up at the counter where John and Emma are wrangling the last few customers, before nervously looking elsewhere after Emma walks into the back. 

“Didn’t figure you for a platinum blonde type,” Carol says, nudging Hank.

“What?”

“I saw you giving her those big dopey moon eyes. Someone’s got a crush.”

Hank’s face turns red and he coughs. “Yes, well, she is… very pretty.”

Jess grins. “Surprised Tony isn’t over there talking about how his family owns half the country or something. She looks like she’d be impressed by old money.”

“Most of the money we have is new money, thank you very much. And besides,” Tony says, putting an arm around Jess, “maybe I’m looking elsewhere.”

“You can keep looking, buddy,” Jess says, tossing off his arm, and Carol howls with laughter, right up until the headache comes back again.

“Ugh, not this shit.” She squeezes her eyes shut, holding her forehead.

“What’s the matter, Care-Bear?”

“Just this headache that won’t go away.” She stands up. “I’ll be right back.”

Jess gets up and follows her into the restroom, which is small and private-use, but Carol lets her come in.

“You taken anything?” Jess asks, digging in her purse. “I’ve got some extra strength stuff for my bad days.”

Carol sits on the rim of the toilet, willing the pain to lessen, but as she concentrates, it is like the lights get brighter, and the noise of Jess rummaging in her bag is so loud it could wake the dead. All her nerve endings are frayed and standing on end.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she finally says, as Jess tries to hand her two small yellow pills.

“Is this a normal thing for you?”

Carol takes the pills and dry swallows, heedless of what they are. “The last time I had anything at all like it was when I was adjusting to the internship and I’d just found out you were sick. Stressed. It’s gotta be stress.”

“If it’s stress, then look at me. Breathe, and look at me.” Jess kneels down in front of Carol, hands on Carol’s shoulders. She looks into Jess’s eyes, having trouble focusing, but Jess holds her gaze steady.

“Breathe in, and out, deep breaths. Concentrate on the sound of my voice.” Carol does her best, ignoring the bright lights, the grinding noise of her own labored breathing. She concentrates on nothing but her best friend.

And slowly, the pain recedes. It washes over and through Carol until there is nothing left but the bitter taste of the pills she swallowed, and the sound of Jess’s voice in her memory, telling her it’s okay. That everything is okay.

Everything is not okay, but it helps. 

Carol pulls Jess up and into a hug, squeezing and breathing in her best friend. “I don’t know what that was, but it helped,” she whispers.

“I’m glad,” Jess whispers back. “Should we go to a doctor?”

“Not yet,” Carol says, letting Jess go and standing up, wiping the tears from her eyes and washing her face in the sink. That last one wasn’t as bad as the others, but it was no picnic. “It could just be stress. If it is, I’m sure I’ll adjust and be fine. If it’s not… well, we’ll go from there.”

“Fair enough.” Jess stands up now, too, fluffing Carol’s wavy spikes.

Carol stares at her in the mirror. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

“So talk to me, Drawed. What’s going on with you and Tony?”

Jess shuts down, taking Carol’s seat on the toilet. “Nothing.”

“He sure doesn’t act like it’s nothing.”

“It’s just Tony being Tony. I don’t need sympathy dating.”

Carol doesn’t know how to respond to this. “I don’t really think that’s what he’s doing.”

“I’ve got a feel for it. You don’t spend years knowing you’re going to die soon and not develop a keen sense for other people’s pity.”

“That isn’t fair.”

Jess shrugs. “Maybe not, Carol, but it’s what is.”

Does she think Carol is on the pity train, too? Carol is so sorry for her friend, but is that pity, or sympathy, or something else?

“I don’t want to argue about it, Jess.”

“There’s nothing to argue.” 

“Good, then.”

“Good.”

The conversation ends on a sour note and Carol leaves the restroom, unsettled. Jess follows, but the boys have gone outside to wait for them, and Carol waves to John and Emma as they walk out the door.

“Can I use your car phone?” Carol asks. “I need to let my folks know I’ve got a ride home.”

“Presumptuous,” Tony says. “I should start charging a fee.”

“I can take the bus, jerk.”

He smirks, but shuts up when he realizes Carol’s mood has shifted. “Yeah, sure, no problem. Phone is all yours.”

The four of them pile into Tony’s Mustang, and Carol waits for Tony to dial the number before handing the phone back to her. This time Hank and Tony are in the front seat, and Jess stares out the window, ignoring the group.

Carol hates everything about this. Every time she thinks she’s got things under control, something happens and everyone’s mad or upset again.

After half a dozen or more rings, her brother breathlessly answers the phone.

“Hey, Steve-O, it’s Carol.”

“Hey, butthead. Mom and Dad just left to pick you up.”

“Shit. Really?”

“No, not really,” he says, “it was the best joke ever.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see them in a little bit. I was gonna tell them I got a ride.”

“Well, snooze, lose, and all that. I gotta get back outside to finish this epic game of night baseball.”

He hangs up before Carol can say anything else, and she fumes.

“All right, let me out. My parents are already on the way, and I’m not about to piss them off any further by wasting their time if I’m not here.”

“You sure?” Tony asks, but Hank is already pulling the seat forward so Carol can get out.

“As sure as I don’t want to be grounded even longer,” she says. “Thanks, anyways. I’ll see you guys at school tomorrow?”

“Indeed,” Hank says, “Have a good evening.”

Tony nods. “See you when I see you, Carol.” 

Jess looks lost in thought, but Carol goes around and knocks on the window next to her face. She looks up, startled, then shares a wan smile. They wave at each other, and Tony drives off with a rev of his classic Mustang engine.

What a day. Phantom headaches, awkward friend interactions, more money than Carol has ever had to herself.

Enough money to start knocking off some bucket list entries. 

*****

Emma Frost fumes. She’s had trouble affecting people’s minds before, but usually it’s because they’re trained, or mutants. Carol is neither, so far as Emma can tell.

Once the shop closes, John and Emma go down the hatch in the cooler. Angelica is overseeing some video feeds, twirling her fiery-red hair and looking bored. The video feeds are silent, empty.

“Your science project yield any new results?” she asks, standing and stretching.

“Some,” Emma says, dropping her ledger to the desk next to Angelica. “Her mind is open to me, or was for most of the evening. She did something to push back once, and then I’m not sure what happened the last time. I just felt myself shoved back. Slowly, and steadily.”

“Not a mutant,” John says, and sniffs. “The friend is, though. The boy with glasses.”

“Potential recruit,” Emma says. She scanned his mind and saw vigilante activity earlier. That’s ripe potential.

Angelica sighs. “Are we stealing anything tonight? I need to burn something.”

“Patience, my dear Firestar. We’ll have more work than we know what to do with, soon.”

If she can just implant some suggestions into these fresh new minds. The son of a billionaire, the secret intern, the mutant with a penchant for bravery. The other girl is of no concern. Dying of something, but nothing special.

The others, though. Emma has use for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma Frost, what a cad! Bit of a long chapter this time, but I had a lot of ground I wanted to cover before we get back to Carol's school life in the next chapter. Expect a bit of a Storm!


	8. Rage of an Angry Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol argues with Johnny Storm, and gets bailed out by her friends. She converses with Hank, Maria, and later Jess about the bully problem and what to do with her Friday night.

Carol is surprised to find out that she is ungrounded on the way home from work. Apparently her father thinks having a job that pays well is a good thing and will build character and discipline, whatever that means. She sure wasn’t about to argue despite his usual protestations around women working.

Carol sets back three quarters of her tips, having still around twenty bucks to play with, and considers how to spend it. Just having the option to spend more than a couple dollars is bizarre. Should she spend it on herself, her brother, her friends? 

There’s a deep shame at the idea of frivolously spending money, and she shoves it down. If Tony can splurge with reckless abandon when they’re out together, so can she. Sometimes. Maybe.

She shoves the bills into her pocket as she heads into school the next morning, knowing she’ll find something to spend it on. She’s looking forward to the day, she realizes. Classwork, hanging with Jess at lunch, Hank in final period, internship, and then freedom for the evening.

She’s so distracted by her own thoughts that she doesn’t even notice Johnny Storm and his buddies until they’ve surrounded her in the emptying hallway before home room. 

She’s walking along and then feels her arm yanked hard to the side, and she goes tumbling into the dark janitor’s closet nearby. She barely manages to stay upright, and already is dropping her bookbag so she can fight back when the door closes and she’s plunged into darkness with the asshole. The space is tiny and she can feel his breath, and only with the utmost restraint does she hold back from outright attack.

The overhead light clicks and flickers into life, and Johnny Storm stares at her, eyes angry, furious.

She says, “Just you this time, huh? Didn’t want your goons to see you get your ass kicked by a girl again?”

“You had help, Danvers,” he bites back, wagging a finger at her. “But no. I’m not here to fight you.”

A shiver runs down Carol’s spine as the other possibilities of what he has in mind occur to her. She takes a defensive posture, feeling around behind her for a weapon. A wrench would be good, but she’ll take cleaning sprays or metal buckets.

He holds up his hands in a “hands off” gesture and says, “Jesus, Danvers. I’m here to call you out on your chickenshit behavior, not feel you up.”

_ Her _ chickenshit behavior? “You’d have some broken fingers if you tried.”

“Yeah, well at least I didn’t narc to your family.”

She almost laughs in his face. “Your bitch of a sister?” She steps closer, weapon forgotten, gets right in his face. He’s taller, but not by much. 

His face twists up in a scowl. “Yeah, my bitch of a sister. She told me all about you squealing on me. I thought you fought your own battles.”

“I do, you sack of shit. All I told her was the truth about her precious baby brother.”

“You went to her work! That’s some spineless bullshit.”

This gives her pause. “I didn’t seek her out. Johnny, do you know what your sister does?”

“She has a private practice other side of town. How you figured that out, I don’t know, and I don’t care. You have a beef with me, you deal with me. Susan stays out of it.”

Carol scoffs. “You’re the one with ‘beef’, asshole. You’re the one who keeps starting all this!” She’s afraid he’ll lose his temper and they’ll have to fight in this closed space. 

He just crosses his arms in front of his chest, stonewalling her. From his perspective, she totally ran home and cried to mommy, and in the world of high school bullies, that’s the biggest crime of all.

But how to cover herself, and apparently his sister? 

“Look, I didn’t seek her out. I was already there visiting someone.”

“Yeah, right. Your precious girlfriend doesn’t have cancer, so why would she be there?”

She would never use Jess’s sickness to cover a lie, but that he says it makes her even angrier.

“You leave her out of this.”

“You didn’t deny it.” He sneers, as if he’s just caught her.

“And you haven’t denied being a jerkwad, so here we are.”

Johnny’s grin drops off his face and he leans against the door, arms crossed. “Look, at some point we’re gonna hash this out. I’m just telling you, don’t go crying to my sister every time you get a little scared. She isn’t going to help you out.”

“The only thing I’m scared of, Johnny Rainfall, is getting suspension for turning you sterile.”

She goes to push past him and open the door, but it suddenly opens outward, and the shocked look on his face is matched only by her surprise as he reaches out to grab her for support, and they both end up falling outwards, she tumbling on top of him as he lands harshly on the tiles.

She shoves off of him immediately, but the damage is done. Vice Principal Miller stares down at them both, expression grim. 

He says, “And here I was expecting to find a fight. Not the right ‘F’ word, as it turns out. On your feet, both of you.”

Carol stands up, sees Hank and Maria standing off to the side, near Johnny’s friends, and Maria gives her a small thumbs up. Carol gives it right back, and leaves Johnny on the floor, recovering from having the wind knocked out of him.

Vice Principal Miller offers the boy a hand, and he takes it, coughing and trying to explain.

“No need to explain, Mr. Storm. Though I would have expected your tastes to be more in line with the cheerleaders and not the rebels.”

Johnny grins. Of course he’s getting off the hook for this. He’s the star athlete.

“What can I say, Mr. Miller? Everyone’s got a dark side.”

Mr. Miller’s mustache twitches. “Yes, well, see that yours leads elsewhere, for the sake of the team?”

Johnny stares at Carol and says, “The heart wants, Mr. Miller.”

“You’re all dismissed. Get to Home Room before you’re marked absent.”

The football goons and Johnny go off down the hall, while Maria leans in to Carol and whispers, “I really thought you were getting your ass kicked.”

They begin walking away, Hank following, and Carol shrugs. The adrenaline is only matched by her anger and she really wishes she was in the weight room right now, to punch off this energy.

Carol says, “I’m not about to explain anything, but he didn’t have me in there for any of the ‘F’ words. Just wanted a brief chat.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Maria asks. “We can go back there and punch him ‘til he’s ugly.”

“That would take all day, and who has the time?” Hank says, and Carol’s eyes narrow at him as they get to his Home Room. 

Maria laughs, though, and slaps Hank on the back, apparently missing that it was a backwards compliment on top of being a joke.

Maria says, “Carol here always said you were smart, but she never said you were funny, too.”

He blushes, slightly, but grins. “As Whitman would say, ‘I contain multitudes.’”

Carol playfully shoves him at his classroom door. “Get outta here with the poetry recitation.” She waves, though, and whispers so that only he will hear it, “And thanks for having my back again.”

He nods solemnly, waves to both of them, and enters his Home Room, which began a few minutes ago and only lasts ten minutes anyway.

“Now that the boy is away,” Maria says as they walk on. They’ll be at Carol’s class in less than a minute. “ _ Were  _ you in there doing something mommy would faint at?”

Carol scoffs. “Not with that douchebag. He’s mad because he thinks I tattled about his bullshit bullying stuff to his sister.”

“And did you?”

“Kind of?” Carol stops short before they reach her class. “It’s mixed up with the internship, but that’s where I met her. And she’s a piece of work, too, but at least she seems to have listened to me.”

Maria’s shoulders tense, as they always seem to do when Carol brings up the internship. “Well, I’ve got your back, Danvers. We gotta graduate before we can elevate.”

“Fly high, Rambeau,” Carol says as farewell, and Maria jogs up the steps to get to her own Home Room.

Carol goes into her classroom and ignores her home room teacher’s longsuffering stare for her truancy, going to sit next to Jessica. Her smile melts Carol’s adrenaline, and their fingers brush lightly in silent greeting as Carol sits down.

She missed the part of Home Room where they could chat freely, so she writes a quick note while attendance is taken, and announcements are made, before passing it to Jess.

Jess writes something on it, and hands it back surreptitiously.

_ Carol: Johnny Storm just threatened me in the janitor’s closet. _

_ Jess: Did you punch him in the dick? _

Carol writes a reply and they pass the note back and forth a few times.

_ Carol: Didn’t get a chance. Mr. Miller interrupted things and Johnny played it off like we were making out. Gag. _

_ Jess: He’s cute, but cute doesn’t trump jerk. _

_ Carol: Maria and Hank were on hand for support. All’s good, but I think I need to figure out how to deal with him, because he’s getting more aggressive. _

_ Jess: Let’s make it part of the bucket list. Stomp the Storm. _

Carol smiles back at Jess. The awkward way they parted the night before seems to have passed. Whatever was on Jess’s mind is not present today.

The bell rings once announcements are done, and they leave class together. Carol throws the note away on her way out the door, and loops an arm into Jess’s so they can walk lock-step.

Over the din of the school morning truly starting, Jessica says, “So you’re ungrounded. You think you can get the car after your internship tonight?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Tony wants to eat at that diner again, and then there’s a party after.”

“You asking me to be third wheel?”

Jess shrugs. “Never hurts to have a buffer where a Stark is concerned. Besides, I’d rather have you on my arm than him any day.”

Carol fights her face going red, but lets her friend’s arm go, as she is at her first class, and Jess is going upstairs. “I’ll see what I can do, and call when I get home.” She isn’t sure she wants to go to a party, and she  _ is _ sure she doesn’t want Jess at a party where alcohol or something else might mess with her illness or her treatments. 

If she goes anyway, Carol can keep an eye on her. 

That settles it.

Jess throws an arm around Carol and pulls her in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers. “Keep on fighting, Care Bear.”

“You too, Drawed.”

 

The rest of her school day is uneventful, and she hops into the driver’s side of their car while her mother scoots over.

“Mom, can I get the car after my internship? Jess wants to go out to eat.”

“We’ll see. Seat belt.” Carol belts herself in dutifully, and begins the drive out to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Her mother turns the radio on and volume up, her passive aggressive way of saying she doesn’t feel like chatting, and Carol lets her mind wander.

Susan and Johnny Storm. What karmic payback is she suffering that they are such thorns in her side? And why is Susan scolding her brother and not their parents? Surely Dr. Storm has her own place and Johnny’s just around.

What would Carol do if she had a little brother like Johnny? Thankfully, Steve is a nuisance, but he’s a good kid. Likes video games more than life itself, and thinks he’s better at baseball than he actually is, but not bad overall. 

She thinks she’d just kick the hell out of him if he started acting like the school bully. 

She isn’t sure what’s on her agenda at her internship today, but she hopes it’s aircraft. A little experimental jet action, or even ROTC-like classwork.

Anything but having to spend more time with another Storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than my usual, a little transition as we get to talk to Johnny Storm for the first time knowing who he is, and maybe a little bit of his insecurities?
> 
> Next chapter will follow Carol back into her internship!


	9. Get Ready, Jet Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol talks to Agent Carter about a friend, and then Howard Stark about the internship in general. Carol gets in her own head, and then Howard and Carol spend time working on the Quinjet. Later, Carol makes Friday night plans with Jess.

“No!” Howard yells.

Carol pulls her fingers back from the unfamiliar machine, so fast that it shifts a little in its housing, and as the rotor spins up, it clanks and clinks against the metal frame, and sparks shoot out before Howard signals to kill the test.

Her adrenaline spikes from the near-loss of one or more fingers, and she steps back from the vertical lift assembly that Howard and his team are working on. 

“Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!” she says. She is far too distracted for getting her hands dirty in something as awesome as this, but she can’t help it.

Howard waves her off, and goes to talk to Dr. Weaver while Carol thinks about what life would be like without a couple important digits.

She’s familiar with the basic anatomy of normal fighter jets, but this one goes above and beyond what she knows. At first she was really excited to jump into the deep end and help Howard with experimental tech, what he has been calling a Quinjet, but as the hour wore on, she made more mistakes and fewer right choices, until the final culmination of her almost losing a finger, or a hand.

Howard finishes his chat with Dr. Weaver and slaps Carol on the back, laughing. “It isn’t a day in the hangar until someone nearly shreds their hand.”

“Yeah, uh. I’d like to not be that person?”

“Next time, if you aren’t a hundred percent focused on the task at hand, let an old engineer know, huh?” She tries not to pout, pouting is the worst, and Howard smiles again. “Look, why don’t we take a quick break and we can talk about the other stuff you’ve been doing for S.H.I.E.L.D. these days, eh? I need something to drink anyway.”

Carol nods and lets herself be led away by the ever-good-natured Howard Stark. They leave the hangar and go up to the observation deck, where Agent Carter is watching. So is Dr. Susan Storm, and Carol almost groans when she sees the woman.

“Ah, Susan!” Howard says. “We haven’t had a chance to chat since you got here. Are you settling in okay?” He leads the doctor away, forgetting all about Carol in the moment. Carol huffs in frustration, but she’s used to it by now. He’s a busy man, and when he’s not busy he’s distracted. And when he’s not distracted… well, he’s always that.

She gets a couple bottles of water and settles into a rolling office chair, spinning idly, and Agent Carter takes a seat in another chair.

“I have to admit,” Peggy says, smoothing her skirt, “I had reservations about you being in the thick of the action today.”

Carol sighs after a big gulp of water, shaking her head. “Normally I’d be arguing you down, but I’ll admit I’m a little distracted.”

Carter smiles. “I do hope it is nothing serious. We do so like to have your full attention when you’re on base.”

“Sort of?” Carol doesn’t know if she should say anything, but she looks over to Dr. Storm and Howard chatting it up. She seems… if not charmed by him, at least impressed with his mustache.

“Well, I’ll thank you not to go into detail. I’m a leader, not a therapist. We have someone on staff to help with that, though, if you desire it.”

“Is it Suzy Lightning Bolts over there?”

Peggy shakes her head, sparing a quick glance for the woman, who is politely laughing at something Howard said. “I take it you aren’t getting on with Susan.”

“Hard to ‘get on’ with her when she’s all business and made of ice.”

“I also take it that her brother has something to do with it. Don’t give me that look, Carol, we know most of what goes on in our employees’ lives, and we most certainly know more about you than you’d probably prefer.”

That sends chills down Carol’s spine. “Almost definitely.” She thinks a second. “If that’s the case, then you know about my friend Maria, right?”

Peggy nods. “Maria Rambeau: aviation enthusiast, senior at your school, struggling with her grades and... extracurriculars to prove she’s worthy of junior ROTC.” 

Carol notes the odd hesitation, but lets it go. It wouldn’t be right to learn secrets about her friends. “I don’t suppose you can do anything to help her out?”

“Are you asking for a favor, Miss Danvers? Favoritism? Nepotism?”

Carol knows that last word, and kind of hates it. “None of the above. You know how hard it is to get into these Reserve Officer things without connections. It’s always six degrees of who knows a Captain who knows a Major who knows a Colonel.”

Peggy  _ tsks _ . “Not always.” She nods towards Carol.

“Yeah, and I actually broke the law, which isn’t really a route I think she’s keen on.”

“Depends on the law, I’m sure.” Peggy’s face shifts as she says it, from casual joke to contemplative.

“So does the director of this facility have any pull? I’d like to see her get somewhere; she’ll take the long way if she has to, but where’s the fun in the long way?”

Peggy half-grins at that. “And if I have a string or two I can pull, will you be anxious to take credit for it?”

“Hell no. Maria deserves it. She doesn’t deserve to know the only reason she got fast-tracked is because I have this wild secret relationship with the federal government.”

Peggy nods. She stands up, smoothing her skirts once again, and says, “I can promise you nothing, but for what it’s worth, she would be an easier sell than you, all other factors being equal.”

Carol laughs. “I bet. No ‘hawk, no problem with authority, no guff, no shittalk.”

“Always a pleasure, Miss Danvers. If you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call and a drink to make.”

She departs, leaving Carol alone with her thoughts while Howard continues charming Dr. Storm.

What were the two of them doing up here anyway? Watching Howard? Watching Carol? 

“Paranoia kills,” Carol mutters. But what if they were? Dr. Storm is working on some weird stuff in her lab. Radiation treatments, massive scarification, battlefield wounds that look--if not out of this world--at least somewhat outside of science fact. 

Carol flexes, examining the faint bruises from her beatdown against May a couple days ago. She is always on the mend from sparring or getting into shit with bullies at school, or vigilantism with Hank, but never seems to have anything more than sore bones and strained muscles. 

She thinks back to the graphs Dr. Storm showed her the other day, how she had spiked off the charts during her sparring session. Is that anything? 

By the time Howard and Dr. Storm part ways, Carol has worked herself into a frenzy around the idea that maybe she’s a secret granddaughter of Captain America, somehow enhanced through her very genetics.

Then she laughs it off. Maybe a Martian, as well as she fits in anywhere. More likely she’s just some stubborn girl with a mean streak, a high threshold for pain, and a low threshold for nonsense.

And yet she’s been digging into the guts of an experimental Quinjet today, so who’s to say what’s science fact and what’s science fiction?

Her fingers twitch to get back down there and mess about. To turn a ratchet, to tighten some bolts, to spin up the vertical lift assembly without losing a finger or two. To feel the artificial wind against her face.

To fly again.

“Sorry about that,” Howard says as she plops down in the seat across from Carol. She’s gotten used to seeing him in a suit or a lab coat, but it’s nice to have him here wearing coveralls streaked in grease and oil, just like her.

“You gotta do your schmooze thing,” Carol says, offering him the second bottle of water.

“Schmoozing is thirsty work,” he agrees. “That Susan Storm is something, isn’t she?”

“Something, all right.”

He laughs. “You would have that opinion, wouldn’t you? She’s a lot like you, you know.”

Carol’s spine stiffens and she’s about to argue.

“I can see you hate that, but think about it after you go home. Maybe you’ll get along a little better once you figure it out.”

“I get along just fine with her. She took me on her rounds through her lab the other day.”

Howard sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s a little above my pay grade, to be honest. I don’t mess with the bio organic stuff these days. Once you make a super soldier, you kinda lose the taste for it.”

Carol really wants to know more about  _ that _ , but she resists the urge. She knows it’s what he wants, and the last thing she wants is to go off on a tangent with him again.

“So she’s new? Her brother’s been in my school since we were 8th graders.”

“That’s not my tale to tell, but suffice it to say, Dr. Storm had more than one reason to come to this facility instead of staying in New York.”

Was it knocking her brother upside the head to stop being a jerk? She thinks this but doesn’t ask it.

“Everyone’s got a story.”

“So what else have you gotten up to in the last couple weeks? Anything of particular interest?”

She shows him the bruises from sparring with May, and says, “I think I’m supposed to do it again next week. May hits hard.”

“She flies harder. Have you seen any of her combat maneuvers?”

Carol hides her grin behind a drink of water. “I’ve seen her fly a bit. Had a real nice view.”

He smiles. “I bet. The… cameras in the cockpits are a nice touch, aren’t they?”

She chokes on her water and splutters. “C-cameras?” Surely May would have known there were cameras in the jet.

“Yep, standard issue with the newest jets. Records the last few minutes into the black box in case of catastrophic failure. Otherwise we don’t really bother looking at them.” He’s mocking her. Isn’t he? Does he know?

“Well. I, uh, was talking about getting to watch her take off and fly around the base. Good view.”

“I guess so. Nothing beats being in the pilot’s seat. If I weren’t  _ precious cargo _ , I’d be flying the Quinjet for these tests, but if something goes wrong, they don’t want to be explaining what happened to me.”

“Speaking of, can we go back down and fight with that vertical rotor again? I think I know what I did wrong, and I won’t lose any fingers.” Anything to get off the subject of cameras in cockpits.

He drains the rest of his water and they go back down, getting grit in their fingers and having a blast. She can’t shake the feeling that everyone’s hiding something, but once her head and her hands are back inside the engine and the rotors, it all slips away, and she just imagines the day she’s flying this, or some other newer experimental jet.

By the time her day is over, she’s pleasantly exhausted, and she gives up trying to get the grime out from under her fingers, or off her hands, or forearms. A quick check in the mirror shows she’s managed to get it off her face and out of her hair, but it’s hard stuck in the rest. 

She remembers suddenly that she’s supposed to go to a party tonight. Whatever, she’ll just hang out with the greasers and kick anyone who tries to make fun of her.  

Maybe Johnny will be there and she can kick him on principle.

She drives home, listening to her father drone on about young ladies and man’s work, tutting at the grime all over her, but she ignores it as best she can. Nothing is going to sour her elation, and with any luck she’ll be with Jess and Tony soon.

She calls Jess as soon as she gets inside, and Jess answers, sounding bored.

“Hey, Drawed.” She jingles the keys that are still in her hand idly.

“Ugh, finally,” Jess says. “Did they make you run laps or something?”

“Don’t act like I haven’t been getting off at this time every intern day.”

“It was for-e-ver,” she says, dragging out the word playfully.

“Whatever. Is there a plan tonight?”

“Depends on if you can get the car.”

Carol holds her hand over the transmitter. “Daaaad, can I have the car tonight? Jess wants to go get pancakes.”

“Pancakes? Why can’t you have a normal friend who just wants to watch MTV or something?”

“We’ll probably do that, too.”

He grumbles about pancakes again, but nods to the keys in her hand. “Home by 10.”

“That’s barely enough time to even get there and eat!”

“11 then. Just call if you’re going to be later.”

“Where’s Mom?” she asks, realizing her mother is nowhere in sight or sound.

“She said something about ladies’ night bowling.”

Was that this Friday? 

She waits until her dad is back in the living room, and uncovers the transmitter on the phone. “Got the car, and even more freedom than expected. We can be out ‘til whenever, mom’s getting drunk at the bowling alley.”

“Jealous.”

“Sure you are.” She whispers, “So what’s the plan?”

“Food, party, country roads, probably more food.”

“Do we have to do the party?”

“Don’t bail on me, Care Bear. I haven’t had a bad spell in a couple days, and I’d  _ really _ like to just go hang out somewhere.”

“Fiiiine. Pick you up in 10?”

“Make it 15. I’m remembering how makeup works right now.”

They hang up and Carol’s shoulders slump. A party. With Jess and Tony. She wonders if Hank or Maria would be interested in going.

But no one answers at Hank’s house, and Maria’s mother says she’s working late. A baby cries in the background, and Carol jokingly says, “Must be fun having a rugrat and a senior in high school at home.”

“Well, aren’t you just a rude little bitch.” Her mother hangs up, and Carol stares at the phone in bewilderment. 

She mutters, “I guess some people can’t take a joke.” 

She makes one last effort to remove the grime from her fingernails and reworks the wavy spikes into her hair before heading out the door.

Diner, probably a little drinking, driving around. Not a bad Friday, if it’s with Jess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always fun to check in with Howard Stark. Next chapter in a couple weeks is Jess and Carol, a night on the town!


	10. Party Like It's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol, Jess, and Tony hang out at Rhodey's diner before going to a high school party, against Carol's better judgement for her sick friend.

Carol sits across from Jess and Tony at the diner, and it is otherwise empty this early in the evening. Where Carol chose to wear her usual stuff, Jess is decked out in some kind of frilly red and black dress with her hair straightened in black waves around her head, and she hardly looks like herself. Where Carol always thinks Jess is effortlessly beautiful, she is something altogether different when she tries. 

Tony is wearing what can only be described as a white leisure suit with a red shirt trimmed in gold, the top two buttons undone, with his hair coiffed high like an Elvis impersonator.

They must look like an after-school special, they look so different from each other.

Carol sips from Jess’s tea, unsure about the night. She knows the boy throwing the party; a senior whose parents are away on a company retreat, and she’s heard the legendary stories often enough at school to know there’ll be booze and bongs everywhere. If Jess drinks, will it affect her because of her condition? Will it mix with her medication and make her sick? Is Tony an asshole when he’s drunk?

Rhodey drops a plate full of pancakes on the table, interrupting the conversation, though Carol doesn’t even know what they were talking about.

“Headed to a costume contest?” he asks, smirking at Tony.

Tony grabs a pancake in response. “Sure, can I borrow your apron?”

“What for?”

“Well, if I’m gonna dress up, I should go as a commoner, right?”

Rhodey snorts, but his eyes are angry. “The other guy is nicer.”

“This one’s more fun,” Jess says.

Under her breath Carol mutters, “Not when Hank wears a mask.” She clears her throat to get Rhodey’s attention and says, “Ignore him. It’s the only way to really get under his skin.”

Rhodey clicks his tongue and winks at Carol, turning to go. Tony says something, meant to needle him further, but Rhodey takes the advice and strolls off.

Tony shrugs. “See if I tip well.”

Carol’s boot connects with Tony’s shin under the table, lightly, but enough to make a point. “Be nice. Hank and I made friends the other night. If you stop posturing you might find out you have something in common.”

Tony repeats her last few words in a mocking tone, but settles back. “So are we really going to a high school party? I could get us in to some pretty swanky after-parties.”

“It’s my playlist tonight,” Jess says, cramming half a pancake into her mouth, sans syrup or butter. “Whad I thay goeth.”

“You should put the other half in and try again,” Carol says, “you were too easy to understand.”

Jess blows a raspberry and pancake sprays over the table, causing her to laugh and then choke on the rest. She fights it down and takes a big drink of her tea before settling back in the booth, while Carol gently wipes pancake off her leather jacket.

“For the record,” Carol says, “you know we’re high schoolers. High school parties are kind of our stock-in-trade.”

“And we are your typical party girls,” Jess says, slapping a garishly large bangle on the table. “We’re gonna go dance and sing and flirt, and you can be there when Carol punches a dude for me.”

“Even if it’s you,” Carol says, fist tightening around her fork in mock threat.

Rhodey comes back with the syrup, but is nonplussed to see them all eating the stack without. “You all have some damage.”

“Incorrect, new friend James,” Jess says. “We have pancakes.”

Tony snorts and Rhodey glances at Carol. “So Hank isn’t the party sort, I take it?”

“He’s more of a debate club kinda guy.”

“When did you and Hank hang out without us?” Tony asks.

“Chess club.”

“I’m not trying to blow up your spot or anything,” Rhodey says, “but that’s almost definitely a lie.”

“I’d believe it,” Jess says. 

“Hey,” Rhodey says suddenly, eyes squinting at Tony. “You’re the Stark kid, aren’t you?”

“Stark man, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re like the same age, dude.”

“You should have a higher opinion of yourself, then.”

Carol taps her glass with her fork. “Easy, boys. You can measure biceps and brainpans later.”

Jess giggles and Rhodey yawns. “Well, whatever. Eat your dry pancakes. I’m gonna go study until you need refills or manners.”

Carol kicks Tony again after Rhodey leaves. “Dick. He’s in MIT, probably smarter than you.”

Tony gets a contemplative look as they finish their food, and he doesn’t try to pick any more fights with Rhodey. Carol even notes the large tip he leaves after they stand to go.

“We’re out of here, Rhodey,” Carol calls. “Give the drunks hell!”

He waves them out of the diner, nose buried in some textbook or other.

“Nice guy,” Jess says, breathing in the night air.

Carol shrugs. “He has his moments, after you get past the passive aggression.”

Tony cracks his knuckles. “So let’s go find out what kind of boring party your high school football guys like to throw.” 

Not boring enough for Carol. The pancakes sit heavy in her stomach, like a weight tied to her ankle.

*****

The noise from the house grates on Carol’s ears and nerves before they ever get close. It’s out in the woods a ways, few neighbors, and nobody to call the cops and break it up early.

There are cars scattered all over the long driveway and in the grass, and Carol makes sure to park where no one can block her in. Which of course Tony immediately does in his Mustang.

“Hey!” she yells out the window. “Don’t be that guy!”

“What guy?” he yells back, already hopping out and tossing his keys into the air to catch them. She rolls the window up as she kills the engine.

She sighs and Jess laughs softly. Her eyes sparkle as cars pass by, their headlights flaring and vanishing. “We’ll be fine. We’re here to have a good time, and when we want to go, at least it’s Tony and not some baseball jerk blocking us in.”

“And if he gets drunk and suddenly is that guy?”

“Then we kick him in the junk and borrow his car.” Carol laughs, but she’s been around enough “nice” guys at school to know most of them are anything but. She nods, though.

“Jess?”

“Yeah, Care Bear.”

“Are you okay to be partying tonight?”

“Of cour--”

“Drawed, don’t bullshit me. Don’t ever.”

“I’m not. Look at me.” Carol looks into Jess’s green eyes and sees they’re serious. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time. I want to keep feeling this good, but we both know it’s a long shot. So let me be a normal kid doing normal dumb kid stuff. We can work on the list some other night. Tonight I just want to be plain old Jess and Carol.”

“With their sidekick billionaire Tony Stark?”

Jess laughs and pulls Carol into a hug. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

Jess squeezes tightly and kisses Carol’s cheek before letting go. On impulse, Carol doesn’t let go, holding her tight and returning the cheek kiss, letting it get awkward as they hold each other, but suddenly afraid to let go.

“Care Bear, we’ve got a party to go,” Jess says, “and I’ve got makeup to reapply.”

Carol lets her friend go, feeling like she’s letting go something she’ll never get back, and wipes her eyes as Tony knocks on the driver side window. 

“You know you don’t need it,” Carol says, opening the door and hopping out as if nothing is wrong in all the world. The door shuts before she can hear Jess’s snappy comeback.

“You, come with me,” she says, dragging Tony by his sleazy white jacket away from her parents’ car while Jess fixes her makeup. He lets himself be pulled lest she rip his no doubt expensive, ugly jacket.

“Ground rules,” she says, and he holds up his hands defensively.

“Nothing I wouldn’t do sober, I promise.”

“I’m serious here, Tony. You’ve been a good friend, but we’ve never been to a party. I’ve never seen this side of you, and we both know that Jess is--well, you know.”

“I know, I do. Look, I’m not the most responsible guy in the room.” Several loud yells and laughs and celebratory whoops punctuate his words, as some new arrival unloads a keg from the back of a pickup truck. “But I also have been partying harder and longer than any of these dweebs at this amateur hour event.”

He folds his arms in front of his chest with a smug expression. “I’ll keep an eye out for you and Jess, and if it looks like she’s going to go south, we’ll get her out. No questions asked.”

She searches his eyes, but even with the sincerity in his voice, she has trouble believing him. 

Jess’s car door opens and she hops out. “Who’s ready to drink and dance and other ‘D’ words?”

“No questions asked,” Tony whispers again.

Jess throws her arms around Tony and Carol, and drags them along to the party. 

Just a regular night, with her normal friends. No drama. No trouble. 

That lasts all of thirty seconds from the moment they enter the front doors to find the keg being installed in the front hall, with Johnny frickin’ Storm overseeing the process.

He catches Carol’s mohawk and grins, nudging his football friends so that they’re all leering at her.

“Storm on the right,” Carol whispers, dragging them deeper into the house through the crowd. The music becomes deafening as they find the living room, all the furniture pushed back against the walls and the sliding glass doors wide open to the back yard, where there are tiki torches lit along a path. 

There’s dozens of people coming and going. People Carol knows, some she doesn’t. Some rock band is playing in the stereo, a song with swears so it isn’t on the radio, and Carol’s hairs stand on end as she listens to the party anthem and hates it. To be fair, they’d all hate her punk and grunge and industrial nonsense, but at least that’s like, real music.

But Jess loves all this junk, her hair bobbing to the bass guitar as she greets other students she knows. Jess might not have many close friends, but she’s easy to talk to and it always shows. 

Jess leaves the pair to find a table full of bright red punch in a punch bowl and plastic cups, and sniffs it once before nodding. She comes back with three cups filled with boozy fruit punch and a sparkling smile. “The good stuff!” she declares, handing cups over to Carol and Tony.

Tony eyes Carol, and Carol shrugs. Jess doesn’t seem to notice their silent communication, and they toast their plastic cups before taking a drink. It has so much vodka in it that she’s surprised it’s still red. Tony drinks his cup silently as Jess and Carol cough at the harshness before grinning at each other. One song ends and another begins, a different band but just as harsh and energetic, this one with synthy stuff and a heavy bass line.

Carol wonders if someone’s got a playlist, or if there’s a mixtape someone’s made, before she is tackled from behind.

It’s a gentle tackle, but Carol’s been in enough sparring matches with May that she damn near breaks the wrist of her attacker with a deft twist and pull, only to realize it’s the other girl from Ice Dream, Inc. that Emma hired recently.

“Kelly,” she says, yells, really, and her coworker rubs her wrist and shoulder, but smiles. 

“Carol!” She rolls her shoulder and looks for her drink, but it’s already spilled on the ground, and Carol hands her half-empty cup over. “My ice cream buddy! Isn’t that job just the best?”

“It’s something, all right,” she mumbles, but before she can extract herself from this girl she barely knows and hasn’t even worked with yet, Kelly drags her along to meet her friends, and Carol gets separated from Jess and Tony, who look on with amused smiles before they start chatting.

That Carol knows these girls as preppy bitches doesn’t seem to bother them in the least, as they chat and laugh and drink and gossip over Carol’s hair and piercings like it’s all the coolest stuff they’ve ever seen. Carol can’t stand this, and while trying to keep an eye on Jess, who has gotten a second cup of punch and is chatting with some girls from one of her classes, she gets dragged outside and loses sight of everyone she cares to talk to at the party. 

Normally she’d just do something outrageous and leave, but everyone is doing dumb stuff and yelling and joking and she doesn’t think it would even work.

A cup of beer presumably from the keg appears in her hands at some point, and even though it tastes like piss, she’s already pleasantly buzzing from the vodka punch and enjoying herself despite being in a gaggle of preppy girls dancing and laughing on the back lawn. Several guys she knows from school occasionally weave in and out of their radius, but the girls are a stone barrier, protecting each other just by mere presence of bubbly energy. No flirty guy gets through for more than a couple sentences before they laugh him away.

Carol finally breaks free from Kelly and her friends, intending to find Jess again and form her own stonewall, but Kelly wraps an arm through Carol’s and says, “You’re going to pee, right? Let’s go together!”

Carol groans as they weave back into the house and up the stairs, where the bathroom apparently is. Carol is trying to look out for Jess, for Tony, for Johnny Storm, but none are currently in sight as Carol lets herself be pulled up the steps.

There is a line down the hall to the bathroom, mostly girls, and Kelly drops them into the queue, sighing heavily.

Carol tries to peer down the steps, still looking, but Kelly starts talking.

“So you’re working Sunday, right? Emma’s so nice, isn’t she?”

“Uh huh. Yeah, I guess. Hey,” Carol says, interrupting Kelly before she can start another stream of nonsense. “Do you get headaches while you’re working there?”

She looks confused for a moment, but shakes her head. “Not really.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, but sometimes it seems like I was going to do one thing, and then I’m in the store room doing something else, and I’m so ditzy I just didn’t realize Emma told me to do it.”

She’s ditzy, all right. “But no headaches? The lights aren’t weirdly bright or anything?”

“No, it’s great and I’ve already made so much from tips I have three new outfits!” The line moves slowly, but eventually Kelly stands next to the door waiting her turn. After exhausting their singular topic of shared interest, Carol stops responding. She’s trying to figure out how to ditch her new “friend” without ruining their work relationship, but nothing’s occurring to her.

They stand there in the relative quiet of the upstairs hall, a few girls behind them waiting in line, but keeping their distance from Carol.

Kelly suddenly leans in close. “So is any of it true, all that stuff on the stalls at school?”

“Hundred percent true,” Carol says automatically, without really thinking about what all has been written about her, what all she’s written.

Kelly’s eyes go wide in shock, but a kind of scandalized delight. 

“Really? All of it? Even the--” She leans in even closer and whispers, “--carpet-muncher stuff?”

Carol hesitates. She has written some of that herself, and it’s always amused her in the past, but lately Jess has been getting some flak from that stuff, too, and that isn’t fair. 

Carol shrugs. “You know how girls can be. You call one a bitch during gym class and they spend the next three years making your life miserable.”

Kelly scoffs and acts outraged, even though Carol is pretty sure she’s done the same to other girls. 

The bathroom opens up and Kelly disappears inside. Carol stands next to the door for several seconds before she realizes that she’s just found her escape. 

She darts down the steps, and somehow finds another cup in her hands as she gets to the bottom and re-enters the party proper. This one is fruit punch again, and the rock soundtrack that’s been playing in the living room has begun giving way to dancy, synthy tunes now. She hates most of these, too, but Jess likes to dance.

She takes a sip of her drink, feeling good. She’s going to find Jess and they can spend the rest of the evening together. She’ll even dance to this stupid music if it makes her friend happy.

But Tony finds her first and pulls her outside through the front door, where they can hear each other. He’s got lipstick on his neck, a stain on his red shirt, and his jacket is missing. “Where’s Jess?”

Carol opens her mouth to say something snarky, but then recognizes the panic in his eyes.

“I saw her with you last,” she says. “Where’d you lose her?”

“I was getting more punch with a senior, and when I turned back to Jess, she was gone.”

They split up, looking for Jess. Part of Carol knows they’re overreacting; she’s probably fine, just making friends and dancing somewhere. But the other part of Carol isn’t so sure.

She ends up going through the living room, where people have begun dancing and the whole room shakes with their energy. She doesn’t see Jess in there, and goes out back, following the tiki torch path and asking everyone on the way, but no one’s seen her. Some are already pretty drunk and some are definitely stoned, so they weren’t going to be much help to begin with.

She gives up on the back yard and the woods surrounding the house, and circles back around to the front. Tony is peeking into dark car windows, but looks to be having no luck up here.

Carol shakes her head as she stops next to him, and he sighs heavily.

“Are we just being stupid?” he asks.

“Probably, but I’d feel better if we could find her and feel foolish later.”

“What if she has an attack or whatever? Do you know what to do?”

She does, but it’s tantamount to “get her to a doctor” so it’s not like it’s much.

Then she sees the hair bob in and out of the doorway, crossing into the kitchen, and backhand pats Tony’s shoulder as she jogs back to the house.

In the kitchen, there’s a gathering of football players and cheerleaders, Johnny among them, and a chant of “Chug! Chug! Chug!” has started.

They’re doing keg-stands, and Jessica’s dress is just as upside down as she is, hanging down her waist and over her chest, her leggings keeping her decent but only just. Beer spews from her mouth and everyone cheers, and the two players holding her legs lever her down, only to have Johnny Storm take her hand and lead her away from the kitchen, a big grin on his face and she laughing hysterically.

Carol follows and catches up to the two of them in the living room. She was feeling a little drunk, but now her adrenaline is spiking and she’s never felt more sober.

“Where do you think you’re going with my friend?” she asks, yanking on Johnny’s shoulder and pulling them to a halt in the middle of the dance floor.

Jess finally sees Carol, and she’s still wiping beer from her face as she throws her arms around Carol. “Care Bear! I thought you left me here.”

She appears to have gotten very drunk, very fast, and Carol holds her friend up while Tony sidles up next to them. “I think we’re good here, pal,” he says to Johnny, who looks like a shark who just had his meal stolen.

“We were just having a good time. You can ask her.”

Jess whispers, “He was being oh so nice while he copped a feel.”

“Yeah, we’re done here. Or would you like a repeat of the hallway last semester?” She feints as if she’s going to punch him in the groin, and Johnny to his credit doesn’t flinch.

“Way to be a killjoy.”

“Way to not be a creep,” Tony calls after him. He attempts to take Jess’s other arm to help navigate the party, but Jess pushes him off.

“No boys right now. I’ve had my fill.” She burps lightly and drags Carol off, weaving through the dancing girls and outside, where the air is fresh and the rumble of music is lessened.

Carol shrugs at Tony as they disappear outside, losing sight of him. He can fend for himself, though. He’s a big boy with a bigger pocketbook.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit down, Jess.”

But Jess drags her along until they’re near the edge of the woods, away from the torchlight and the smokers and the cackles of high school cheer.

“I have a confession,” Jess says, and suddenly her eyes aren’t nearly as droopy and she stands up straight, not wavering. “I’m not actually that drunk.”

“You were just doing a keg stand,” Carol bites back.

Jess waves a hand dismissively. “Most of that ended up on the floor. I don’t know why, but the alcohol isn’t hitting me as hard as I expected it to.”

“Are you secretly a day drinker?” Carol jokes.

“Maybe the medication is counteracting it.” She shrugs and spins, weaving her fingers through the air. “I’m just having the best time tonight, Carol!”

Carol wishes she felt the same. She leans back against a tree, arms folded in front of her. “At least someone’s having a good time.”

“Oh, please,” Jess says, straightening again and imitating Kelly. “I know you were having a good time with your coworker.”

Carol tenses up. “We swapped war work stories until we ran out of things to talk about. She never shuts up.”

“She’s just excited. Outside of like, Hank and Maria, who else at our school have you actually let inside even a little?”

“I like it that way.”

“The world wants Carol Danvers to come out of her shell. Come on, secret intern, you’ve gotta be part of the world if you wanna fly in it.”

Carol doesn’t think that’s true, but she’s also aware that this is how arguments start. “So you’re not that drunk, huh?”

She holds her finger and thumb barely apart as example.

“Pretending?”

“I’m trying not to freak anyone out. Last thing most people heard about me is I’m dying from some vague disease, but tonight I’m just another girl here to dance and have a good time.”

“I’m glad for you. Really, I am,” Carol says, pushing off the tree. “I’m just trying to watch out for you while you unwind, and that’s kind of its own stress, you know?”

Jess nods. “I’m not your responsibility, Carol.”

“It isn’t about that. I want you to enjoy yourself, but I also want you to be healthy and active and around for a long time. It was earlier this week that you were still missing school.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“No, I’m your best friend, Jessica. It hurts even to think about you being gone. It hurts every time you need a little help in the shower, or every time I bring your homework to you. Every time you sound exhausted or your mom tells me you’re back at the hospital getting another midweek treatment.”

“You don’t think it hurts for me every time?”

Carol doesn’t answer. She knows it does. She’s being selfish and she can’t help it.

Jess keeps talking. “It hurts to breathe, sometimes. It hurts to wake up, to go to sleep. When I’m at my worst, Carol, my eyelids are so heavy I can’t even open them without breaking a sweat.” She steps forward and grasps Carol’s hand, holds it to her chest between both of hers. “Every laugh, every touch, every word we share when I’m getting treatments. It is agony. It doesn’t end.”

Carol is fighting back the tears, but they’re coming anyway. Jess is calm, rational. She’s been fighting this for so long and she has built up barriers.

“Why would you let me come around when it’s so painful?”

Jess smiles. It is the pure grin of a girl living for every moment. She says, “Because you’re the only thing in this world that really matters to me, Carol Danvers. You’re the only one who has always treated me normal even though I’m definitely, 100% going to be dead in a year or two. I can take the pain because you can take the pain.”

Carol has no idea what to say to any of this. Her eyes burn and her whole face is afire. Her heart thumps in her chest like the rabbit’s foot from Bambi. What was his name? She can’t think straight.

“Thumper,” she says, and Jess stares at her, all semblance of the moment lost in confusion.

But Carol throws her arms around her friend and hugs her deeply, tightly, their cheeks pressed together. “I can take the pain,” Carol says. 

“Anything for you, Care Bear.”

“Same, Jess Drawed.”

A flicker of green sparks between them suddenly, zapping Carol’s cheek where it made contact with Jess’s face. Carol jumps back, rubbing the tingling sensation.

“What the hell was that?” she asks, before remembering the green spark at the hospital all those months ago.

Jess shrugs. “It happens sometimes. My body’s electrons are all shook up or something. Side effect of the treatments, I guess.”

“Feels like I got bit and electrocuted at the same time.” She rubs her cheek again. “Did it leave a mark?”

There isn’t much light to go on out here, just the pale glow off the moon, and Jess reaches out with a finger, turning Carol’s cheek to the sky and moving it around. There’s a faint sense of something electric in her fingers, but the green static doesn’t reappear, and Jess smiles.

“The same cheek on the same face, Care Bear.” She leans in and kisses the spot, like a butterfly landing, before letting Carol go and turning back to the party. “Boo boo all better, Bear.”

“Weirdo.” Her stomach feels like her cheek: tingly and fluttery, and she thinks she might throw up. It passes after a few seconds, and Carol steps up next to Jess, who is tapping her foot in the grass to the beat of some Janet Jackson song.

“So now that all this mushy stuff is out of the way,” Jess says, holding her hand out to Carol, “Can we go dance?”

Carol groans but takes Jess’s hand as they sprint off back to the party and take over the living room. The music changes from dance to danceable rock like Poison, and then alternates. It’s none of it to Carol’s particular liking, but Jess is in love with the song choice and that’s all Carol needs to know. 

It doesn’t take long for Tony to find them, and at some point he’s changed shirts and Carol makes a note to check his trunk for spare outfits. They dance and sing along to the music, and other people join in and then leave when it’s clear there’s no room for extra friends in this dance party. Every song that comes on, Jess yells that it’s a favorite. Eventually Kelly comes back and tries to be friendly, and Carol feels bad long enough to let her and her friends dance around to their favorite song before pulling Jess and Tony out of the living room, looking for non-alcoholic refreshment.

Tony says, settling into a lean on the kitchen counter, “This is a pretty good party, as far as high school stuff goes.”

Carol finds soda in the fridge and passes one over to Jess, tosses one to Tony. The keg is floating by now, and everyone’s abandoned it for a second keg set up elsewhere. Jess holds the cold can against her neck, flushed and lightly sweaty.

“It’s been pretty tame, based on my understanding,” Carol says, drinking deeply and hiding a belch. 

“Next time you want to go dancing, I’ll get us into one of my dad’s clubs downtown.”

Jess says, “Deal.”

Carol nudges Tony. “So who did you flirt with while we were MIA?”

“There were several, but when you’re at a place as uncultured as this, the Stark name doesn’t really carry the weight you’d expect.”

“You’d have better luck hanging out by your car,” Jess says. “It’s a chick magnet even if your name isn’t.”

“That’s--that’s a good point, actually.” 

“You wanna dance some more?” Carol asks, hoping she’ll say no. A plan has formed and that plan requires no more dancing.

She fans her face and inside the neck of her dress. “I think I’m danced out. We could look for Johnny and get into some trouble?”

“You’re actually trying to get me killed at this point,” Carol says.

“I’m gonna go test out this chick magnet theory,” Tony says. “If you get into a fight, well. Don’t get into a fight without me.”

“Aye aye, Captain Two-Shirts,” Jess says, and Carol laughs in his face. He leaves with a good-natured scowl, and disappears outside.

“Do you really wanna go pick a fight with Storm and his goons?” Carol asks.

“What, and break a nail?” She sets the soda aside, unopened, foot tapping along to some rock anthem against the counter. “We should get outta here before we actually do get into trouble. Are you sober?”

“As a judge.”

“Which judge?”

“One of the really sober ones.”

“Convincing. Look at me.” Carol looks into Jess’s eyes. “How many fingers?” Carol answers three correctly. “Can you walk a straight line?”

“I can probably walk two straight lines.”

“Isn’t that just walking?”

Carol shrugs as they start to leave. “I need to do one thing before we go. Tell Tony to move his car.”

“Are we running away?”

“Almost definitely. It’s a surprise.”

Another song comes on, one she vaguely recognizes as another Janet Jackson hit, as they separate. It’ll take the right timing and the right path, but it’s going to piss off so many people. She can hardly contain her laughter.

She locates the stereo in a nice entertainment center, brushes off a bad attempt to dance or flirt or both, and waits. The song comes to an end, and before the next one can play, she pops the cassette out, pockets it, flips the radio to an oldies AM station her dad likes to listen to, and darts for the exit.

It takes several seconds to cross the living room and make her way out of the house, and in that time the party’s vibe shifts from teenage fun to somebody’s getting their ass kicked, and Carol dashes past Johnny Storm just as he’s trying to say something snarky and witty, only to realize Carol is behind the sudden music change. The boy who threw the party is chasing her: dead giveaway. Carol thumbs her nose at Johnny and disappears outside.

She runs between cars, dodging people and topiary, clutching the keys to her parents’ car as she runs.

Tony is in the process of backing out his Mustang, and she thinks suddenly that she’s miscalculated the timing of it all. If she can’t drive out of here immediately, they’re going to catch her and probably kick the hell out of all of them.

Jess is sitting in the passenger seat, still fanning herself in the cool spring air, when she sees Carol running and the party chasing her.

She laughs and then stands up, slapping the roof of the car to get Tony’s attention, and screams “Faster, Tony! We’ve got heat!”

Tony’s tires spin gravel as he accelerates, deftly maneuvering out of the way and finding a place to turn, as Carol hops into the driver’s seat, turns the ignition, and barely waits for the engine to roar before she guns it in reverse, tearing up lawn and nearly sideswiping an old Ford Aerostar van before she corrects and finds the place Tony turned around. 

Jess is laughing and yelling out the passenger window to suck it as they drive off, beer cans and sloshing cups pelting the rear window as they flee. Still others are cheering them on.

They follow Tony at a fast clip, taking side roads and driving at random until they feel certain no one is following, and Carol parks on a back road before letting her fingers off the wheel. 

She is shaking from adrenaline and laughter, and almost drops the tape when pulling it out of her jacket pocket.

“I stole their tunes,” she manages between laughs, and Jess howls with laughter right along with her. The tape says “Get Busy Mixing” and this makes them laugh all the harder, as Tony drives back along the road to stop beside them. It’s late and the road is empty.

“And just what was all the excitement for?” he asks from his car.

“Badass over here stole the party!” Jess yells over Carol, howling with laughter.

“Stole the party?”

Carol tosses the mix tape over to Tony, and he looks at it confused for a moment before smirking. “I guess you did. NOW it’s a great party.”

Carol says, “Not for them!” and they laugh for what feels like forever, until she’s crying from laughing so hard, and struggling to breathe. They laugh until Carol and Jess are collapsed against each other, breathless and spent.

“This was a good night, Care Bear,” Jess whispers after a few moments of silence. She sits up and calls over, “Hey, gimme that tape back!”

Tony tosses it over to Carol and revs the engine. “We done for the night or?”

Carol sits up straight, handing the tape to Jess, who puts it in the player in the dash. 

“We need a car wash, a bathroom, and some mints, and then yeah, we’re done.”

“You’re on your own, then, ladies. I’ve got other plans.”

Tony revs the engine one more time and peels out on the back road, smoke lifting from the tires as he speeds away.

“I’m gonna get that car some day,” Carol says. “See if I don’t.”

“So ominous, Scare Bear. I need a burger or something, too.”

“How are you hungry after all those pancakes?”

“Dying is a high calorie exercise,” she says, then the look on her face says she regrets it.

Carol ignores it. “One hamburger coming up.” Their options are limited this late, but the diner is always there. Rhodey will be _so thrilled_ to see them again.

Jess smiles. “You know, I’d rather have a cheeseburger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little late in posting, but as you can see it's a pretty massive chapter! I wanted to get the entire evening in one go, and there was a lot to cover. We're somewhere around the halfway mark of this part of Carol's story, so get ready for a lot of fun and a lot of drama as we move ahead!
> 
> And for anyone trying to figure out who Kelly is, she's not a comics character, just someone who ends up being a foil to Carol's normal attitude during the party.


	11. S.H.I.E.L.D. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol Danvers meets a new person at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, who tasks her with being a tour guide all over the base.

She’s glad she didn’t drink very much the night before, because if they make her run today, she won’t last. As it is, Carol loves the smell of burning jet fuel in the morning, and it’s heavy as a fog in the air right now. Saturdays are her favorite day, because she gets to spend the whole thing on base, away from her parents, her friends, all the things that aren’t flying or a step to gaining her wings. 

Carol enters the gate and hops in her cart, wondering what the first couple of hours will be about. Saturdays never conformed to anything like a schedule in the past, and if this new schedule Agent Carter has given her follows form, she hopes it will continue as before.

She drives to the administration building, parking in her usual, special spot. There’s an unfamiliar car in the parking lot today--some convertible with the top down and a leather jacket tossed lazily in the passenger seat. Something she’d expect maybe Airman May to drive, or Howard Stark if he’s feeling froggy.

Which, of course, is always.

She waves hello to the receptionist as she badges in, loving that her new security clearance gets her into places, if not everywhere. Inside she finds Howard Stark, Peggy Carter, Dr. Susan Storm, and a new woman she doesn’t recognize, having a heated argument in Agent Carter’s office.

Well, the women are arguing. Howard looks upset, but sits back and says nothing. That’s so unlike him in general that Carol tenses up. Maybe some new big wig in town to try and curtail this experiment?

But Peggy sees Carol through the windows of her office and waves them all off. Their argument dies away and Carol steps forward. The woman, handsome and assured in the way that Howard Stark is of his own value in the world, grins. Carol wonders that they were ever arguing.

Howard steps out and holds the door for the rest, with Agent Carter coming last from her office. Howard and Peggy are both dressed casually today in slacks and polos, which is roughly normal for Howard and completely unexpected of Peggy. Dr. Storm is wearing her lab coat with a white dress underneath, giving her an austere appearance. The new woman is short-haired, cocky, somewhere around Carol’s mother’s age, wearing a tee shirt and jeans, and a clearance badge somewhere far above her own. Carol usually feels underdressed on base, and isn’t used to being the least interesting thing in the room.

“Miss Danvers,” Agent Carter says, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Unless this ghost is wearing a polo, it’s just you in something approaching casual wear.”

The new woman laughs. “And you said she’d be intimidated by a stranger.” Her voice is slightly husky, confident. It fills Carol with a desire to make this woman happy.

“If she knew what was good for her, she would have been,” Dr. Storm says. 

Howard laughs this time. “Well there’s no doubt about that metric, right, Danvers?”

Carol returns the smile, but finds she can’t pull her eyes away from the new woman. She holds out a hand and says, “Carol Danvers, Intern.”

The woman takes her hand in a firm grip and shakes. “Dr. Wendy Lawson, Research and Development from--well, from somewhere else.”

“Does R&D mean I get to play with some new toy?” Carol asks hopefully. 

Susan Storm scoffs and walks away, saying, “I’ll be on hand later.”

Howard’s smile drops away and he gestures to Peggy. “We should probably get going. Those martinis aren’t going to drink themselves, no matter how many robots I make.”

Peggy scoffs. “If we arrive at the country club and there are drinks on the table at--” She checks her watch. “--10 AM, I am calling your wife and putting you in a program.”

“No program can handle me, Peg.” He winks at Dr. Lawson, who isn’t smiling now, and makes a face. “Look, Carol, you’re going to shadow Wendy here while she tries to figure out the amazing things I’m doing with the quinjet.”

“I already know all your little tweaks, Stark. It’s child’s play compared to what I’m doing.”

That piques Carol’s interest, but they all hush up instead of continuing to talk. Howard escorts Peggy to the exit, and calls over his shoulder, “Have fun storming the castle!”

“Stop quoting movies you produced!” Carol calls back.

They disappear outside and Carol is left with this stranger, this oddly self-assured scientist, and feels a pang of doubt deep in her belly. What are they really up to? Why is Dr. Storm going to be “on hand” later?

“So Dr. Lawson, how did you get roped into me tagging along today?”

Wendy laughs. “First, forget that Dr. Lawson stuff. You can call me Wendy or just Lawson. Second, how am I going to say no when Howard Stark asks me to babysit his pet project, especially when I saw that excellent jacket.”

She reaches out and tugs on Carol’s bomber jacket. “Fan of the old school, I see. There’s nothing like being in the sky with the only things keeping you aloft a wing, a prayer, and a bucket of bolts.”

“So you’re a pilot, too?” Carol asks.

Lawson nods. “Where I’m from, you don’t build it if you’re not gonna use it.”

“And that’s where?” 

“Come on, then, let’s go see this quinjet he’s so excited about.”

Carol notes she did not answer that question, but lets herself be pulled along out of the admin building.

“You drive a stick?” Wendy asks as they get outside, tossing some keys to her.

“I drive a crappy car that belongs to my folks, but yeah.”

“Then you can be my tour guide.” She hops into the passenger seat of her convertible, tossing the jacket into the back, and grins. “Or are you afraid of a little muscle?”

Carol grins. It’s not Tony’s Mustang, but it’ll sure do.

Wendy grins right back. “No, there’s not much you’re afraid of, is there?”

“The only thing I fear is staying on the ground, Wendy.”

She gets into the driver seat, revs the engine a couple times for good measure, and grinds the gears only a fraction of a second before smoothly transitioning into first and taking off. 

The concrete and tarmac all over the base makes for a smooth ride, and with the wind blowing through their hair and the engine humming pleasantly beneath them, Carol feels like they’re hovering, flying. They are weightless as Carol navigates around, talking to Wendy as if they’re old friends and making jokes.

It’s a strange feeling, to be so at ease with a new person. To share this sensation of flight, however muted and artificial, is special. She’s only shared this sensation with two other people, and those all too brief. Hank when he tossed her through the air and over the fence when they were running away; and when she actually did get to fly, with Airman May.

“Have you met any of the pilots on-base?” Carol asks as they pull up to the experimental hangar where the quinjet is stored.

Lawson shakes her head. “Just the two who flew out this morning in the jet I dropped off.”

“Was it Goose and Tank?” Carol asks. 

“Well, damn, Danvers, are you a mind reader?”

“They’re the only pilots I really know on-base,” Carol says. She hands the keys over to Lawson as they step out and begin the clearance procedures to enter the hangar.

It takes a few minutes, with the soldiers taking their time with Dr. Lawson to make sure she’s supposed to be there, but soon enough they’re inside and staring at the jet that got Carol into this whole mess in the first place. 

“It’s something, all right,” Lawson says, agreeing with the awestruck look on Carol’s face.

“You were just giving Stark a hard time back there, weren’t you?”

Lawson laughs and bumps shoulders with Carol as they move on, inspecting the actual jet now. “Always. I’m building something a mere man can’t even dream of, though. That part is true.”

“And you’re here to, what, get ideas from an inferior design?”

“It’s not really inferior, just… built to a different spec. Howard knows rare materials better than anyone, and he can maybe help get me over the hump. Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“Sounds feasible.”

“So come on, continue the tour. I’ve gotten the basics from Howard, but he tells me you’ve been inside this thing almost as often as he has.”

Carol is happy to do so. She certainly hopes someday to be able to fly this thing, but for now she is content to show this stranger everything she knows. She wants to impress Wendy Lawson. 

After showing off the controls and answering the questions she could, Carol asks, “So what’s Dr. Storm going to be around for later?”

Lawson shrugs as she flips switches and turns dials, seeming at random, but to Carol’s sense of this craft, it’s all correct if she were going to turn it on and cycle the engines.

“Probably just being cautious. You’re still a minor after it’s all said and done, Danvers. Don’t want to have to explain why we had a child in the cockpit of a jet with live missiles or whatever when you inevitably blow us all up.”

“No one would ever put an intern in a jet with live ammunition.”

Lawson shrugs again. “Playing by the rules is for people who don’t wear leather jackets, am I right?”

Carol snorts. “Punks and pilots, we go hand in hand.”

“Help me with this, would you?” Lawson asks, trying to remove a panel from the wall. Carol knows there are control circuits behind it, and not very interesting, but she leans over to slide the panel up and out.

Lawson pulls up too quickly, and Carol’s finger gets caught in the sliding motion, tearing skin and causing her to yelp and pull back. 

Red droplets form and Carol sucks on her finger, while Lawson hands her a kerchief from her pocket. “Sorry about that, kiddo.”

She seems to be paying very close attention to the red blood welling up and onto the white piece of cloth. Carol holds it there, shaking her head.

“You surprised me, is all. It’s nothing a band-aid won’t fix.”

“Is there a first aid kit onboard yet?”

Carol looks around. She doubts it, but there’s one in the hangar, so she steps outside, Lawson following, and tends her finger. It really isn’t bad, just some torn skin that stings when she disinfects it and puts the bandage on. She hands Lawson the kerchief once she doesn’t need it.

“Sorry I bled all over it.”

“Sorry I made you bleed.” She delicately folds the cloth so that the blood isn’t exposed, and puts it back in her pocket.

“We can go back in if you want to keep looking around?”

Lawson nods and they go back in.

An hour or two later, Carol has no idea for sure, they reemerge from the quinjet, exhausted, covered in grime, sweaty, and pleased. They essentially disassembled the cockpit one piece at a time, then reassembled it. Carol learned more in that time than she had in all the hours with Howard and the other techs over the last couple months, and she had learned a  _ lot _ in that time. Lawson just has a brilliant, ordered mind that intuitively grasps all the functions of things, even if she doesn’t recognize it at first. It’s overwhelming, but awe-inspiring.

“So did you figure anything out for your super secret project?” Carol asks as they freshen up in the restroom. Carol notes there’s some kind of grease or polymer on her forehead again, and sighs, scrubbing at it.

Lawson splashes water at her face and rubs a paper towel over it before leaning back on the sinks. “Stark is the real deal, for sure. The quinjet may never be the standard military craft, but it’ll find use for damn sure. The way he has the cockpit set up is classic, but new. Efficient. I’m sure the rest of the jet is the same, and I can use all that for what I’m doing.”

“Which is another aircraft?” Carol prods.

“That’s all I can say it is for now. I’m probably a year or two from testing.”

Carol fights the urge to ask more. She hasn’t felt useful today so much as just trying to keep up with Lawson’s quick mind.

“Come on,” Lawson says, tossing a wad of paper towel in the trash. “I’ve got you for another couple hours, and I want to see this simulator that Howard talks about.”

The simulator is underwhelming, and Lawson checks out after a few minutes of it. Carol warned her, but everyone has to experience it themselves. 

They walk out of the simulator building and Lawson cracks her knuckles, frowning. “I expected something a lot more sophisticated, the way Stark talked it up.”

Carol says, “It was really neat the first time I used it. But there’s just no substitute for the real thing. At least until the simulation is no longer discernible from the real thing.”

Lawson goads her, “And you have a lot of experience in military aircraft, do you, Intern?” 

Carol’s shoulders slump a little. “I had a ride-along opportunity once.”

“Lucky lucky. Totally against regulations, but good for you.”

“What’s next, Dr. Lawson?” Carol asks. 

Lawson checks her watch. “We’ve still got a little time before Howard and Peggy get back. There’s a G Machine somewhere around here, right?”

“Trying to make me earn my call sign twice?”

“I saw your file. ‘Cheeseburger’ has a nice ring to it, but when you become official, let’s hope you get something with some menace behind it.”

Carol drives Lawson’s convertible again, but the feeling of flight is replaced with anxiety about being back in the G Machine. She’s been in it a few times now, with the Air Force recruits, but it has never really gone  _ well. _

“You’re a veteran pilot,” Carol says on the way, “do you have any tips for the G force not making you throw up or pass out or anything else embarrassing?”

“Do you know the definition of a veteran to pilots?”

Carol thinks for a moment. She isn’t aware of anything she’s heard or read or seen in documentaries. She shrugs.

“A vet is just someone who hasn’t made the right bad decision yet.”

“As in, the decision that gets you killed?”

“Maybe so. At any rate you called me old.”

“Sorry? You’re what, in your 50s?”

“Older than your parents, no doubt. Forget it. I’m teasing.” She glances away for a few seconds, watching a crowd of soldiers marching to some other location on base. “G Machines are hard. They run you at a sustained pace far harder than you usually experience in a jet. If you’ve been up in one of ours, you already know the difference. The extremes are there, but they’re so short your body barely registers them.”

“So what can I do to keep from tossing my cookies every time?”

“Dramamine helps. Exposure helps. Eating light helps the most.”

“No meditations or tricks?”

“Everyone’s different, Danvers.” They pull up to the skills lab, where the G Machine is located, and Carol parks. “Sometimes the hardest thing to admit is that you’re just not right for the job, no matter how hard you try to deny it and keep at it.”

“And do you think that’s me?” Carol asks. She’s ready to flip this woman off and storm away, but Lawson shakes her head, chuckling.

“You’re far too stubborn. Give it time, try to anticipate the changes, focus your mind on channeling those G forces instead of trying to resist them.”

“I’m not a wizard.”

“There’s not really a way to explain it scientifically. You just get a feel for it and make it work for you instead of against you.”

Carol is mystified by this response. She tries to take it to heart, and focuses on not getting sick while the machine spins her around and around, faster and faster. She just throws up the light breakfast she’s eaten, as usual, but manages to hold it in until after it slows back down and she can control it.

Lawson takes a turn, asking them to crank it up as high as they can, which is against safety regulations, but Lawson’s clearance apparently trumps their protocols, and they turn the damn thing up so fast Carol is sure it’ll rip itself free and come barreling through the rest of the building.

Only it doesn’t, and the image of Lawson’s face pressed back is almost gruesome, but it has its own beauty to it as she cheers and laughs, seeming unaffected by it physiologically. 

It winds back down and she steadies herself for a moment before hopping out, looking spry for a 50-something. Carol still feels unstable after ten minutes, let alone immediately after getting out.

“Now that’s what I call a funhouse ride,” Lawson says, chuckling.

“That was intense,” Carol says, and Dr. Storm walks through the door into the control room, shaking her head.

“That was foolish, Dr. Lawson. You could have been seriously injured.”

“Nonsense. I’ve pulled more Gs pulling up my pants.”

Carol stifles a laugh, and Dr. Storm sees the bandage on Carol’s finger. “And what happened to you?”

“Just an accident with some circuitry. It’s fine.”

“Electrical burn?”

“No, just the panel scraped some skin off.”

“Well, show it to me so I can at least verify it’s not serious.”

Carol removes the bandage and holds her finger out to Dr. Storm, who takes it and inspects it. The finger still stings and it’s a little raw, but the wound has closed and it has scabbed over nicely.

“This looks like it happened yesterday, not an hour ago,” Dr. Storm says, letting Carol’s finger go.

“I don’t bruise easy.”

“Airman May might suggest otherwise,” Susan says with the ghost of a smile.

“I’d like to see you get tackled for the fiftieth time and not walk away with a few lumps.”

“I will pass.”

“You could try to pass, but she wouldn’t let you.”

Susan’s eyes roll dismissively. “Are you going off to do more foolish things, Dr. Lawson?”

“I thought I might steal the quinjet with Danvers and we’d go joyride it around Boston.”

“Good luck with that. I’ll be around to remove the bullets from your bodies.” She waves a hand and leaves.

“Her bedside manner is lacking,” Lawson notes as they walk back outside to her car. “Is she always this way?”

“She’s usually less sarcastic, but yeah. I could tell you stories about her little brother, pain in my ass at school.”

“He probably just likes you.”

“I seriously doubt that. I’ve kicked his ass at least once.”

Lawson shrugs as she takes the keys back from Carol. “We’re gonna run out of time. You’ve given me some interesting insights today, Cheeseburger.”

“Glad I could help. Did you learn anything that will help your research?”

She shrugs as they pull away and drive back to the admin building. “Maybe. I need to pick Stark’s brain a little bit about alloys and temperature differentials.”

“Is your jet going to be like the next generation of stealth bomber?”

“Does asking make you feel better, despite my having not yet answered you on any of them?”

“You’ll slip eventually.”

That makes them both laugh. “You’re interesting, Carol Danvers. I can’t say I totally see what Stark sees in you, but there’s something there.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I’m not wasting everyone’s time.”

“It’s only a waste if nobody learns anything.” They pull up next to the admin building, where Carol sees Howard’s car is back, and Carol hops out. “I hope you get to fly again, soon, Carol.”

“Good luck with your… timeship?”

Lawson laughs, loud and genuine, before offering her hand. “Take care.”

She drives off, leaving Carol feeling strange about the whole day. Dr. Wendy Lawson, experimental aircraft, utmost secrecy, and the most fortitude Carol has ever seen in anyone inside the G Machine.

Carol smiles, adjusts her curly spikes, and heads inside.

*****

Dr. Wendy Lawson leaves the base in her convertible, screaming down the back roads far too fast for any car. At least any Terran vehicle.

She pulls the bloody kerchief from her pocket, examining it as her vehicle navigates itself along the roads. She felt it immediately when she saw the girl: a kinship. A… knowing. 

Carol Danvers just might be part Kree. Wendy Lawson, or Mar-Vell, may have stumbled into an alien ally in the least likely of places. 

She needs to leave orbit and run some tests, then do some research. If Carol Danvers has Kree physiology, then so does one of her parents. And why another Kree would be on Earth is beyond her. She’s one of the only Kree who knows the truth. Who sees the villains and the victims.

Who can help stop it all.

But first she needs to know if her feeling about Danvers is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Mar-Vell appears! Those who paid any attention to the timeline of the Captain Marvel movie by now know that I'm way too far forward in time for Carol's age, since she disappears in 1989 on the test flight, but for the sake of the particular era and a little compression of events between now and the timeline of the movie, I can make it work.


	12. Rambeau Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol looks for something to do with her Saturday night, and ends up meeting Maria Rambeau's family to hear about some good news Maria has to share.

The phone drops into its cradle and Carol stares at it a moment. Jess’s dad answered, and refused to let her talk to Jess, citing some nonsense about family night and monopolizing Jess’s time. Her Saturday night might be a bust.

She tries Hank next, but his folks say he’s out. She considers briefly attempting to find him and go vigilante tonight, but her heart’s not really in the ass-kicking mode, anyway. Too weird of a day to go looking for trouble.

She considers Maria next, but her fingers hesitate over the numbers and the dial tone drones on. Last time she called Maria, her mother answered and called Carol a bitch, and Carol has no idea why. Well, maybe she can apologize.

She dials the number and waits, but the phone is picked up quickly and it’s Maria, thank God.

“Rambeau residence, Maria speaking.” So formal.

“Hey hey, ace pilot.”

Maria laughs. “What’s up, Danvers?”

“Just looking for someone to hang out with tonight.”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, punctuated by a happily-babbling toddler. Then Maria says, “Jess busy, or sick?”

That stings a little, but Carol doesn’t have it in her to tell Maria that she’s third choice. “Family game night at the Draw house. Let’s go somewhere and talk jets.” She wants to wow her friend with the things she learned today while escorting Dr. Lawson around, but most of it is still classified.

“Can’t go out, but uh…” She hesitates. “Tell you what. You can come over here, if you want. We’ve got Nintendo, and my mom will kick your butt at Pac-Man.”

“I think my brother has that.” Carol wraps her finger around the coiled phone cord, leaning against the wall and considering. She’s not much of a video game player, but hanging out with Maria might just mean playing it politely for a few minutes before they do their own thing.

“Sure, how do I get there?”

 

Carol borrows the car, which is now getting on her parents’ nerves, and makes the short drive to Maria’s home. The place is in another part of the suburb Carol isn’t terribly familiar with, and it’s not quite as nice as her or Jessica’s neighborhoods, but the lawns are mowed and the fences are painted.

She knocks, but Maria answers it almost as her knuckles rap the door. She holds a young girl, the toddler Carol has heard crying and laughing on the phone. The girl has a giant halo of kinky black hair and is wearing an Air Force tee shirt that obviously belongs to Maria, as it is basically a blanket.

“Come on in, Danvers. There’s uh. Well, there’s some stuff I should tell you.”

“Danvers!” the girl yells excitedly as Carol follows Maria into their home. 

Carol suddenly feels nervous, like there’s a lot going on in Maria’s life that Carol has no idea about.

Maria leads Carol into the living room, where her parents sit around a small television watching some sitcom or something. 

Greetings and names all around. Mom is Molly, Dad is Darrel, the little girl is Monica.

“You told her yet?” Molly asks as they all settle into chairs or couch cushions.

“I’m about to, cool your jets.”

Darrel’s eyebrows rise and his head cocks. “Cool what now?”

“Sorry, Dad.” Maria lets Monica go, and the little girl runs across the couch cushions and dive-bombs Carol, babbling about lord knows what. Carol laughs and picks her up, pretends she’s a plane for a second, motoring around in front of Carol, and then sets her down, where she immediately throws herself back into Carol’s arms.

“Kids aren’t usually into the whole ‘piercings and punk’ look,” Carol says, laughing, as Maria pulls the girl back into her lap. 

“Well, she likes you.” Maria takes a big breath. “This is my daughter, Carol.”

Daughter. Of course it is. How had Carol been so dense?

She tries to cover her wide eyed shock by looking anywhere else, but she catches Molly’s eyes and the woman glares her down. 

“I didn’t know she wasn’t yours, Mrs. Rambeau, when I called the other night.”

“I know, dear. Can you imagine, Darrel, having another when the first is already grown?” The parents share a rueful chuckle, but it’s apparent they’re doing their share of raising Monica.

“So you get it now?” Maria asks. “Why I’m so busy and stuff.”

“I can’t believe you went out for basketball on top of everything else.”

“And you’re not freaked out?”

Carol isn’t sure. She shrugs. “It changes things a little, but now I know you’re a kickass mom on top of all the other stuff. Just makes you even more amazing.”

Maria smiles as her dad says, “Language,” and they all chuckle.

The parents excuse themselves to the kitchen, leaving Carol with Maria and her adorable toddler.

“So a mom?” Monica has extracted herself again and is playing with the curly spikes in Carol’s hair, which normally bothers her, but how can she get mad at this girl?

“So a mom.”

“The dad in the picture?”

“Not even in the background of a polaroid. Far as we’re concerned, Monica ain’t got a daddy.”

“That bad?”

“That good. He’s a good guy and we don’t actually talk anymore. Doesn’t need to mess his life up on my account.”

That feels harsh, but Carol knows better than to argue with people’s personal decisions. She nods and Monica laughs as the piercings rattle in Carol’s ears. 

“So I gotta ask, Rambeau.”

“Why I’m telling you?”

Carol nods again and Maria sighs. She stands and paces around the living room. “I didn’t really have anyone else I could tell. You’re the only one I trust in that garbage school not to go spreading it around.”

Carol mockingly claps her hands in a precious gesture in front of her face. “Awww, you like me, you really like me,” she teases.

“I can stop liking you right now.”

Carol tickles Monica. She normally doesn’t like little kids, either, but this ball of joy and sunshine is bringing out something new in her.

“I get it,” she finally says. “I’m glad you told me, for what it’s worth.”

“I know you’ve got Jess for all this mushy best friends forever talk, but I like hanging out with you, Carol. When I start ROTC in the summer, we’ll have a little more common ground to talk about.”

That takes Carol by surprise. Maria’s mouth is cocked up on one side in a lopsided grin, and she nods at Carol’s shocked face.

“You got it? You finally heard back?”

“Yesterday after school. I gotta go sign some paperwork and meet some people, but they accepted my application.”

“That’s frickin’ amazing!” Carol exclaims, remembering at the last second to censor herself in front of the toddler.

“It’s not nothing. I guess the basketball stuff pushed me over the edge.”

Or Carol’s help did. That’s not something she wants to admit, in case Maria prickles at getting help.

If her help even made the difference. Better to just let this sleeping dog keep snoring.

Carol gets Monica to high five her, and the girl misses, almost toppling over, before she gets it right. “So you start after school lets out?”

They talk logistics and excitement for a while, and Monica bounces back and forth between Maria and Carol for an hour, and it all feels so natural and fine that Carol is oh so glad she hadn’t found something else to occupy her time tonight.

Soon enough, Maria’s parents come back in, and Carol challenges Molly to a game of Pac-Man, which she loses because she’s never actually played, and then both Maria’s parents go into a head-to-head match while Maria gestures for Carol to follow her to the back porch.

As the screen door closes, Monica runs into the lit back yard, chasing fireflies and accidentally smushing them between her hands. She’s half a glowstick in minutes.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna do Air Force, ROTC, and raise a kid,” Maria finally says. 

Carol places a hand on Maria’s shoulders as they watch Monica wipe the glowing substance on her dress. “You’re not doing it alone. You’ve got your parents.”

“And they’re just as tired as I am.”

“You’ve got me. I can help with the rugrat sometimes.”

Maria scoffs. “You’re busy as me, what with this secrety internship and having a job. And all that time pretending not to give a shit.”

“It’s hard work, but someone’s gotta reject the status quo.”

“You think a black girl in officer training, with a kid at home, is gonna be a cakewalk, you’re definitely wrong.”

Carol doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s hard enough being a woman in the armed forces, based on all the statistics she’s been able to find, but being black and female, and with a kid, has got to ostracize her from nearly everyone.

“I’m serious about helping you with Monica,” Carol says. “If you need a babysitter, you just let me know.” 

“I always need a sitter, Cheeseburger. Can’t afford ‘em all the time, but always need ‘em.”

“Well, I’ve got uh… Sunday nights? And school’s gonna be out before you know it, and I can help keep her over the summer.”

“I’m not asking you to throw away all your free time, Danvers. Forget it.”

“It’s not throwing it away. Just keep it in mind, okay?”

Why she’s being so insistent about this, Carol can’t say. Maybe it has to do with how cute the little ragamuffin is. Or a feeling of kinship with her flight enthusiast friend. Or guilt over being part of this huge experimental jet and S.H.I.E.L.D. thing, and not being able to share it.

She can do this, though. 

“I’ll keep it in mind, Danvers.”

Maria takes a deep breath and makes airplane sounds as she jumps down the back porch steps and starts chasing her daughter. Carol watches until Maria catches Monica, then they both start chasing Carol.

It’s not at all how Carol thought her night would go, but it’s far from the worst Saturday night she’s ever had.


	13. Hankering for Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol works at Emma Frost's ice cream shop, has an argument and a dizzy spell, and later talks to Hank and James at the end of her shift.

“$3.25,” Carol says, resisting the urge to wipe the bead of sweat off her forehead. The man in line pays for his kids, leaving a quarter in the tip jar, which Carol doesn’t even care about right now. The day is warm, summer come early, and the Ice Dream, Inc. shop has had so many customers that she can’t believe they still have ice cream to sell. But they do, and she sells. The tip jar has already been emptied once, and it isn’t tiny. Even though Emma is off overseeing other business ventures today, the place runs smoothly.

Her new friend Kelly stands beside her, scooping vanilla, and chocolate, and strawberry, and something that looks suspiciously like birthday cake, while Carol manages the register. John Proudstar pushes past every few minutes, bringing more cones, more cups, more straws, more everything. Large cartons of ice cream that Carol isn’t sure she could lift. 

At least she hasn’t been getting any headaches.

After seeing another peewee baseball team through the line, Carol and Kelly get a precious second to breathe in a temporary lull. They’ve been so busy that they haven’t even had a chance to do more than say hello and get to work.

Carol drinks some water and resists the urge to splash it on her face, while Kelly dabs at the perspiration on her forehead, careful not to mess up her makeup. Why she’d put on makeup for a sweaty job is beyond Carol, but hey, tips are good when the boys flirt with her.

Kelly eyes outside the shop, then looks for John, and smiles when she doesn’t see him up front. She plops down next to Carol on the back line and leans over to bump shoulders.

“You realize someone’s going to get revenge for that epic mix tape theft, right?”

Carol grunts, drinking some more water. “They can certainly try.”

“Do you still have it? I’d have ditched it on a back road if I’d had the lady bits to do what you did.”

Carol grins. “That would have been too good a funeral. It’ll show back up someday, I’m sure.” She is already thinking about her own counter-revenge.

Kelly stands back up to answer the sugary siren song of hungry children coming up to the line, fingers somehow already sticky. “Well, either way, people are gonna be talking about it for weeks. You made the final nine weeks worth something, Carol.”

Carol shrugs as she goes back to the register. She didn’t do it for fun, or yucks, or to get even. Those were just side benefits to making Jess happy.

She hopes Jess is still happy. She calls during her mid-afternoon break on the company phone, but the phone just rings and rings at the Drew residence. She lets it ring a few extra times for good measure, each ring further convincing her something has gone wrong, before hanging up and trying again. Same response.

Surely they’re just out having a normal day together, right?

But her mood sours and she snaps at Kelly after her break, upsetting the girl. Then she goes one step further and nearly shoves John out of the way when he tries to take over the register.

“I got this, ice cream boy,” she says. “Just go wait for the boss or something.”

He grunts and leaves her to it. She stares at the tip jar, which looks sad and empty for the back half of the shift. She doesn’t have this. Her tips are suffering and Kelly gently offers to switch places.

Carol nods and the girls swap. Tips improve, but she gets pulled from the line altogether when Emma comes back. Which is fine, because Carol has just made a little boy cry when she purposely slows down serving his chocolate cone.

John takes over while Carol trudges to the back. She’s messed up again, this time for a reason outside work. She wonders idly when the headache will come back, and then realizes that it has come back. It’s a dull, low buzz in her brain, but it’s coming.

Emma waits in her little office, wearing a white pantsuit with what has to be a silver corset under the jacket. Carol thinks the woman probably can’t even sit down in that getup.

“Let’s take a walk,” Emma says, leading Carol out of the office and out the back door. 

“I already had my break.”

“You’re still getting paid, my dear. Come, you need some fresh air and we can hand out some coupons while we walk.”

Carol starts to remove her apron, but Emma’s tongue clicks at her and Carol leaves it on. She takes a few “Buy One Get One Free” coupons from Emma and occasionally hands one out to parents with their children, or groups of gaggling middle schoolers, and says with false cheer, “May all your Ice Dreams come true!” with each coupon.

They don’t talk to each other as they walk, rounding the block and heading towards the bus stop, until finally Emma hands out her last coupon and sighs.

“I can explain,” Carol says.

“Explain what?”

“My bad attitude today.”

“Oh, had you been a stick in the mud today? I hadn’t heard.” She grins slightly, and Carol leans against a brick-walled building, playing with the coupons still in her hand.

Carol opens her mouth to speak, but Emma interrupts. “I do not actually care what your reason is, Ms. Danvers. Reasons and excuses are just failure you refuse to own.”

She wants to argue, but she also doesn’t want to lose her job. But she also wants to argue.

“That’s bullshit, Ms. Frost.” Well, that’s one way to get fired.

Emma’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “I’m not normally in the habit of letting employees speak to me like that,” she says, “but I admit I’m curious why you think you can get away with it.”

The headache grows stronger, from a low throb to a pulsing vibration. Manageable, but barely.

“I suppose if I say I’m sorry, you’ll have another pithy remark about apologies and actions or something.”

Emma crosses her arms in front of her chest and waits. Carol’s dug herself a nice deep grave with her big fat mouth.

“I do own my failures, Emma. Hell, teenage life feels like nothing BUT a series of failures.” She rubs her forehead. “Between drama, classes, friends, family, this job, my internship, and these wonderful new headaches, I never feel like I’m doing more than treading water in a very big ocean.”

“Your headache has returned.” Not a question.

“It’ll fade. I’m trying to say that I’m sorry for snapping at customers and being less than an ideal employee since you got back this afternoon. You can keep my share of the tips today.”

Emma’s concerned look turns into a sour grimace. “And have you trying to report me to a labor board? You have those here, don’t you?”

Carol nods. “Probably.”

“No, I think you’re right, as much as it pains me to admit it,” Emma finally says. “You own your failure and you take steps to self-correct. There’s something admirable in that. Foolish, but admirable.”

“That’s the lane I live in.” Carol tries to smile, but the headache is pushing against her eye sockets now, and she rubs her temples, trying to relieve pressure that isn’t really there.

She staggers suddenly, legs weak enough that she nearly drops off the wall she’s leaning on, and the pressure mounts in her skull. Emma leans in to offer her hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ms. Danvers? Perhaps you’d find it easier to stop  _ resisting _ .”

Carol can’t focus on Emma’s words, but she nods. What did she say? She feels like it was a good suggestion. She sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out. Her mind relaxes and she focuses on the pressure escaping. On letting it out.

And out it goes. She leans on Emma, getting her bearings. Emma whispers to her, and Carol has the sense that these are very sensible words even if she can’t remember them as they’re said. 

Carol recovers, and for a moment she isn’t sure why Emma is holding onto her, or why they’re down the block from the ice cream shop. But it comes to her, slowly, and a passerby checks on the pair of women before heading on her way.

Emma situates Carol and rubs her shoulders. “Nearly took a nasty splash, didn’t you?”

“... Yeah. Sometimes I wonder how one foot goes in front of the other.” She’s normally much more confident in her physical ability, but she was distracted.

“Let’s go get you a drink of water and a few more minutes of break, what do you say?” Emma leads Carol back to the ice cream shop, and Carol feels better. Not perfect, but better.

Things go fine for another hour. Customers come and go, ice cream and yogurt and coffee is served. Kelly gets off shift, gets her share of the tips, and meets some boyfriend Carol vaguely remembers her talking about at the party, and Carol runs the serving and the register sides during a lull before close.

John and Emma discuss something quietly in one of the booths, but Carol can’t hear their conversation.

About the time that Carol is bored enough to ask to go home fifteen minutes early, since the whole place has dried up and no customers have come in for at least twenty, a couple of familiar faces walk in.

She calls out, waving and smiling, “Hank McCoy and Rowdy Rhodey, as I live and breathe.”

Hank waves at Carol distractedly, but he doesn’t come up to the counter with James. Instead, he settles his glasses on his face and approaches Emma’s table, where he clears his throat to get their attention. They start a discussion, Hank pulling a chair up to the edge of the booth and taking a seat. 

“What’s that about?” she asks.

James glances in Hank’s direction and shrugs. “He said he had something to talk to some people about. I didn’t ask specifics.”

“Right, I guess you don’t know any of us that well.” 

“Knowing people is overrated. Better to just fly under the radar.” He grins. “So you liked ice cream so much you went and found a job where you’re surrounded by it.”

She rolls her eyes and wags her ice cream scoop at him. “If a certain diner boy knew how to serve ice cream, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to.”

“Says the diner girl who ate pancakes without syrup like some kind of weirdo.”

She shrugs. “Pancakes soak up booze.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, and besides, you’re just doubling up your carbs.”

“It’s a bona fide Tony Stark party trick.”

Rhodey’s lips curl into a sneer. “Well, if a Stark says it, patent and print it.”

Carol laughs at that. “You two are hilarious. Did you know he’s going to MIT in the summer?”

He scoffs. “What’s a billionaire need an education for?”

She doesn’t know the answer to that, but she says, “Sometimes people are just looking for something to do.”

A young couple, middle schoolers by the look, comes into the shop and Carol shoos James away from the line to serve them. They don’t leave a tip at all, and Carol has time to wish a pox on their firstborn as they sit down in the corner to drink their milkshake. She’s wearing too much makeup and he’s wearing too much cologne, and she remembers 7th grade all too well.

“Could dust a field with that scent,” James whispers as he comes back up to the counter, and they share a quick grin. 

“Give him a break. I bet you wore a suit on your first date.”

James laughs. “I did. I was a handsome little snot.” She silently thinks he’s probably right. Carol’s eyes drift over to Hank, who is still talking to Emma and John. Their voices are low, and Carol can’t imagine what they’re talking about that’s got Hank’s brow furrowed so deeply.

James taps the glass case with the ice cream in it, getting her attention. “Give me a scoop of something, Danvers.”

“You can get ice cream for free at the diner.”

“Yeah, but we only have vanilla and chocolate. Give me some kind of fruit blast or something.”

Carol glances down into the case. John told her on her first day to always serve the ice cream that sells the least when a customer asks for something vague. But Carol considers his request before settling on the raspberry sorbet, one of their best sellers among the soccer moms.

Carol hands the tiny bowl with its tiny spoon over, and makes change for the single James pays in. He throws the coins into the tip jar, and tosses another of his own tip singles into the jar to boot.

“James Rhodes, you trying to flirt with me?”

He grins until he realizes it wasn’t a cute question and covers it with a cough. “I uh, kinda thought that’s what we were doing.”

Carol shrugs while James holds his tiny bowl awkwardly.

She probably should have recognized it sooner, but perhaps her radar for this kind of thing is on the fritz because of Tony.

“You know, offering me money for my affection gives a girl a certain idea about how you think of women.”

James eyes go wide and he stammers before Carol chuckles. “Hey, no hard feelings, okay? I’m not really the dating type. Just ask Tony.”

Rhodey’s shoulders slump at mention of Tony. “So the two of you dated?”

“What? No!” She only notices her voice is raised when the middle schoolers glance her direction and giggle between them.

She runs a hand over her curly spikes, embarrassed. “Sorry. No. He had a crush on me and did the same thing you’re doing now.”

“Well, at least I didn’t lose to that jerk.”

“First, I’m not some prize in a competition, but also, Tony’s not a jerk. Well. Okay, he’s a jerk, but not like you’re thinking. He’s a good guy. A good friend.”

James shrugs and eats a spoonful of the raspberry swirl sorbet and his mouth widens into a grin. “Good call, Danvers. Sorbet is weird, but good. Like you.”

Carol huffs in annoyance and he laughs. “Sorry, force of habit. If you’re not interested, I’m just a guy who likes sorbet.”

About this time, Hank shakes hands with Emma and John and leaves their table. The shop is about to close, and Carol’s shift will be over in a matter of minutes.

Hank approaches James and Carol, a nervous grin on his face, but before Carol can ask what that was all about, Emma calls her over while John takes over the register and serving counter.

Emma says, “Good job today, Ms. Danvers. Despite your little outburst, sales were high and tips look very good. Once John cashes out the tip jars and you get your cut, you may go.”

“I don’t suppose you can tell me why my friend had a very sober and serious conversation with you?”

Emma deadpan stares at her for a moment. “I certainly can, but it is not my place. Your friend Henry is a complicated boy, but it’s not your job to uncomplicate him.”

What the hell does that mean? She only nods and tries to remember the advice Emma gave her earlier, but it’s at the edge of her memory, just out of reach.

“Well, okay, I guess. What’s my schedule for the coming week?”

Exactly as she expects. Days off from the internship. Dwindling freedom. But hey, money’s good. 

She waves goodbye to Emma and John as she steps outside, stuffing her big wad of tips into her jacket pocket. Hank and James stand nearby, talking about some principle of physics.

“Ugh, god, not you, too,” Carol says to James.

Hank says, “He is merely humoring me, Carol.”

“I’m just trying to follow it,” James says. “I know about air resistance and velocity, but you get to talking about places where physics works differently, I’m out.”

“Good. You can be my nerd buffer next time I’m out with Tony and this guy.”

Hank clears his throat. “Carol, if I might have a quick word in private?”

Carol nods, shrugging at James as Hank begins to walk down the street with her. The sun has begun to go down, but people are out and about still. 

James stands on the corner, inspecting the news stand out of boredom, while Hank gets far enough away and sighs.

He starts, “I’m sure you’re curious what that was.”

“Just a little. But if it’s like, not my business, it’s not my business.”

“It isn’t, but you know of my… well, my alternate life.”

“Kickass vigilante mutant,” Carol whispers, and Hank nods.

“If I ask you to trust me, will you?”

She shrugs. “You’re already trusting me with a big old secret. That’s a two-way street, my friend.”

Hank breathes a sigh of relief. “I am glad to hear it. Wait.” His ears perk up suddenly, and Carol’s fist clenches in recognition.

“Something going down?”

“Possibly. And it looks like our new friend is getting right in the middle of it all.”

She turns to see James approaching a group of two freshman girls Carol vaguely recognizes from school, who appear to be suffering some harassment from a group of five guys about Carol and Hank’s age. The girls look scared and frustrated, and James is on a collision course for an ass-whooping.

“Just when I thought the night was going to be boring.” She and Hank jog after James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, a fight, an argument, and a visit to a sick friend!
> 
> As a side note, I have revamped my Twitter after years of barely using it. You can follow me on Twitter @rick_cook_jr, twitter.com/rick_cook_jr, to get occasional writing teases for the current chapters I'm working on, random fandom musings, and probably retweets for Carol fanart. Maybe I'll see you there?


	14. Rowdy Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol, Hank, and James confront some teens harassing some younger girls, and later Carol finds out a few things about James and her boss at the ice cream shop.

Carol runs up after Hank as he inserts himself into the conflict that James decided is his problem.

The freshman girls back away once James, Hank, and Carol get between them and the guys harassing them.

The guy who appears to be something of their leader looks them up and down, an angry grin on his face. “What’s this, some white knight committee sticking its nose where it’s gonna get smashed? We weren’t doing anything wrong, just talking to the girls.”

James takes point, getting in the guy’s face and not backing down. “You all should apologize to these girls for scaring them. There’s five of you and two of them. That math is easy enough even for you.”

The guy scoffs, glancing at his friends to the left and right of him. They snicker and don’t back down, and suddenly Carol is certain this is going to become a conflict. Her fist clenches inside her pocket and she prepares to kick one of them in the junk if it gets hostile.

“Look, buddy, we’re minors, and you’re definitely not. Do you really want to see what happens when the cops roll in here and see  _ you _ assaulting a bunch of kids?”

Carol notes the tension in Rhodey’s jawline. It really might escalate if they provoke him again. She steps forward, keeping her hands in her jacket pockets, trying to appear nonchalant and bored.

“Do we really want to embarrass them in front of the girls they’re trying so desperately to intimidate?” she asks.

“Who said anything about intimidation?” another of the five guys asks. He’s slightly stocky, might be a football player. They’re not from Carol’s school, but she knows the type. “We’re just being friendly. They should be grateful to get the attention of upperclassmen.”

Hank adjusts his glasses and says, “You may be upperclassmen, but you’re certainly not classy or gentlemen. I suggest you leave these young ladies alone and go about your evening.”

Hank’s ears twitch, and Carol wonders what he’s picked up on.

The five friends glance at each other, back at Hank, and bust up laughing.

The leader says, “Four Eyes over here talks pretty, but he sounds like a dweeb.”

James leans in. “Dweebs rule the world, asshole. All we get to do is follow their orders.”

Carol bristles at that, but he’s not really wrong.

The leader’s shoulders tense up and his right hand curls into a shaking fist. It’s about to swing. “Call me an asshole again, I dare you.”

James takes a deep breath while everyone tenses and gets ready to fight. He says, “I’m not starting anything with you. You’re not worth a night in jail and bruised knuckles.”

Swears and fists fly. James dodges the blow from the leader and shoves the stocky one back, and just as the whole thing is going to erupt in a melee, red and blue lights flash and a siren  _ whoop-whoops _ nearby.

Everyone halts as a police car pulls up next to the group on the sidewalk. 

The cop rolls her window down on the passenger side and leans out on her arm. “Evening, kids. There a reason you’re all about to get arrested, or can we just call it a night and go about our business?”

Everyone backs down and Carol resists the urge to deliver some snark the cop’s way. They’d no doubt be seen as the aggressors, with a black man and a punk girl.

The jocks make lewd gestures to the two girls and flip off James, Hank, and Carol as they stroll on down the street. The tension snaps and Carol takes a deep breath, letting her fingers uncurl from the fist. 

The cops wave off the rest of them with a suspicious glance at Carol, but they drive away to break up other street fights on other streets.

Carol approaches the two girls, who are whispering to each other and glancing at James and Hank. Carol says, “Hey, so you girls all right? Need a ride home or anything?”

One of them, with long hair and a pouty face, shakes her head no. “We live nearby. Apartments down the street. We’ll be okay. Who are your friends?”

Carol grins. They might be young for James, but Hank is a nice guy and age-appropriate.

“Well, this here is Henry, strong as an ox and smart as a fox, and that’s Rowdy Rhodey over there. Make no mistake, I’d have gotten a good punch or two in on your behalf.”

“Thanks, I guess?” the other girl says. She has short hair and a cute, upturned pixie nose that Carol is jealous of. Carol shrugs at her seeming indifference. The girls introduce themselves to Hank and James, Hank blushes and walks away, and James politely refuses to accept the pixie girl’s number when offered.

The whole exchange feels weird to Carol, but she and James say goodbye and catch up to Hank, who is walking towards the bus stop.

“Didn’t figure you for the shy type around cute girls, seeing as how you’re always with this one.” James nods at Carol, and Carol fights a sudden blush. Is he flirting with her?

“Hey now, I know you’re not trying to shorten my list of positive attributes to just my looks.”

“I would never, you badass. Just… an observation.”

Carol throws an arm around Hank’s big shoulders and laughs. “Good, ‘cause we’ll make an example out of you, right, Hank?”

“Wouldn’t really have been a fair fight against those doofuses, anyway,” James comments when Hank doesn’t respond. “I’ve got a little training, and you’re a, well, you know.” He motions at Hank.

Carol stops in her tracks, her arm falling off Hank’s shoulder as he turns sheepishly to her.

"You told him? We've known the guy all of seven minutes." 

Hank smiles. "To be fair, they were a very good seven minutes."

James smiles back. “Look, I guess I just have one of those faces people trust.”

Carol doesn’t know what to say to that. She looks back at Hank. “We’re talking about the ‘m’ word here, right?” He nods. “And you’re cool with it? You’re not like, secretly planning to out him or something?”

James folds his arms in front of him. “I only mentioned it here because he said you already knew.”

“Ok,” Carol says, wrapping her head around this. Hank can do what he wants. He told her and they’d been friendly for all of half a day. Though, granted, the circumstances were a little more extraordinary. Still. It’s weird.

“It’s weird,” she repeats. 

Hank begins walking again and they fall in step beside him. “I don’t have any excuses for you, Carol. James was nice and I trusted my gut. I’m not used to doing that, but maybe you are having a bit of an effect.”

“So. What about the vigilante stuff?” she asks. “Are we forming a hit squad? I’m not against it, personally.”

James laughs. “I’m not really into the whole ‘making my own justice’ thing. The Air Force would probably frown on it.”

Air Force. Carol stops short again. “Are you enlisted?”

He nods. “A little bit. Reserve while I’m doing MIT. Hoping to get around to piloting by the time I’m 25, maybe officer by 27.”

How did she miss this about him? They talked about his school, but he never mentioned her jacket or anything about his Reserve status. 

“Well, damn, I guess that’s my bad,” she says. “I’m in something of an ROTC internship thing over at Stark Aviation.”

“So that’s how you know Tony.”

“More or less.”

They get to the bus stop, and stand off to the side so they can keep talking. She is thinking that she might try to introduce Maria to James when he interrupts the conversation.

“I don’t think I’ll be joining you on this vigilante business,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t float you some intel from time to time, if it comes my way.”

“That would be appreciated, James. Thank you,” Hank says.

“Now I gotta get back to the diner. Stay out of trouble, or at least don’t let anyone catch you. Danvers, we’re gonna talk aircraft later, right?”

She almost says, “It’s a date,” but merely nods instead, embarrassed. He shakes hands with Hank and takes his leave with a big smile for both of them.

“Well,” Carol says, watching him go. “It’s been a night, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has. Listen, about Miss Frost and Mister Proudstar--”

“Your business unless you say otherwise, Hank.”

“You work for them, so it’s your business, too. They are mutants.”

“What?”

Hank runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “I marked John the first time we came here. I wanted to talk to him about it, but when I arrived today, I could smell it on her, as well. This whole building is heavy with the scent.”

“But it doesn’t matter, right? Mutants are just people trying to get by.”

“Mostly, yes.” He considers. “I’m not certain about Miss Frost, though. She strikes me as a very guarded woman. Her entire demeanor and appearance are curated to obfuscate. I merely mean that you should be careful around her. Do not grant her your trust unless she proves she is worth it.”

She grimaces. Mutants. Are there just far more of them out there than anyone suspects? And here Hank is sharing his most private life with her, and she hasn’t done the same for him. Only Jessica and Tony know the full truth, and Tony knows because he’s a nosy jerk.

“Thanks for telling me, Hank. Someday I’m gonna return the favor, you know.”

“No doubt you will have all kinds of secrets to share someday.”

Or right now, Carol thinks.

The bus pulls up, and Carol realizes it’s not the bus that she needs as Hank waves goodbye. She jogs off to her stop, and all the way home she can’t stop thinking about how busy everyone’s lives are. How many secrets she has. 

Life isn’t fair, but she’s doing the best she can. She really wants to talk to Jessica.

When she gets home, she calls, but still nobody answers. She asks to borrow the car, but her parents say no because it’s too late for a school night. She huffs and goes to her room, briefly considers sneaking out.

If she’s sick, she won’t be there anyways. If she’s not, Carol will see her at school.

School is only eleven hours away. She can do this. Half a day to see Jess and make sure she’s okay. She waits until it’s very late, past bedtime, and calls one more time.

It rings, and rings, and rings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter, but the next one is going to be a bit beefier as Carol searches out Jessica at school!


	15. Finding Jessica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol looks for Jessica fearing she has had a backslide into her sickness, gets into a fight, and runs into an unlikely person at her internship.

Another call to Jess’s house in the morning before school; no one picks up. With every unanswered ring, another stone drops into Carol’s stomach.

Jessica’s seat is empty in home room. The teacher hasn’t heard anything.

Carol calls the hospital from one of the pay phones, dreading the response that, yes, in fact, Jessica Drew was admitted over the weekend, and she’s doing very poor.

But Jessica hasn’t been admitted. They haven’t seen her, and by now they know her and Carol well.

She makes one last call to Jess’s house, and hangs up after a dozen rings.

She needs to calm down, to take a breath and focus. But she just keeps picturing Jessica alone in some hospital room as her life essence drains out of her, as whatever treatments they’re giving her just keep making her worse. 

In the midst of this, Johnny Fucking Storm walks by in the hallway, smirks at her, and calls out, “Way to ruin the party, Manvers. Next time, you and Drew should stay home.”

She doesn’t hesitate. In a fraction of a second, she collides with Johnny and they tumble against a locker before toppling to the ground. Fist after fist hits his face, his neck, his chest, everywhere that’s exposed while he frantically blocks and tries to throw her off, but she’s got fury in her veins. She’s yelling and crying, and snot is flying, and none of it matters because Johnny Storm is a rotten bastard who doesn’t know anything.

She’s in such a blind rage that she imagines her fists are glowing with bright yellow energy. Fueling her anger. Pummeling the bastard for being such a shit. Each strike he gets slower, his arms weaker, as she attempts to punch him one more time. To finish the job.

Hands pull her back before her fist connects, and she lets herself be pulled. Johnny’s face isn’t nearly as pummeled as she expected, but his eyes are wide and the fear is strong. Good. He deserves it.

“You keep your fucking mouth shut!” she screams, fighting off the hands holding her back and running for a distant bathroom.

She finds a stall and locks herself in, tries to control her breathing and slow down the sobs. She’s not supposed to be the weak one crying in the bathroom.

Her eyes catch a familiar phrase she wrote months ago in marker.  _ Carol D. Eats the B. _ Something has been added to it in blood-red nail polish. 

  1. _Drew is C. Crew._



She stares at it. It’s definitely Jess’s work. When had she added it? Her fingers run over the nail polish, the faint raised lacquer smooth and hard. Immovable. Implacable. Like Jess.

The bathroom door slams open and Vice Principal Miller’s churlish voice calls out, “Miss Danvers, to my office immediately.” Girls scream at his intrusion, and Carol hadn’t even noticed them on the way in. Miller coughs an apology, reiterates his statement, and closes the door.

There isn’t much room for her interpretation of events.

She attacked one of the popular kids. She’s likely to be expelled.

She cleans up as best she can, puts a palm on the  _ J. Drew is C. Crew _ graffiti, and then heads out. 

Whispers and cheers follow her down the hall, calls of “Psycho!” and “Dyke!” and “Way to go, Carol!” None of them come from her friends. She doesn’t see Hank, or Maria, or even Kelly, as she strides down the hall to meet her fate.

She’s all alone, and yet she feels in some small way that Jess still has her back. Drawed always does in the end.

She sits down in Miller’s office, a small room that might as well be a broom closet. It’s cramped in there with Johnny and Carol on one side of the desk and Miller on the other. A sad little prince of a sad little hill. Not even a king.

“Okay,” Miller starts, shuffling some papers on his desk. “The two of you have been having some kind of something for months. You’re fighting, you’re making out in closets--”

“Definitely not doing that,” Carol says as Johnny sniggers.

“Fighting in school is a suspendable offense, Carol,” he continues. “And you’re not on anyone’s list as best student, with your punker persona and your piercings and that god-awful mohawk thing.”

Johnny says under his breath, “The mohawk is kinda cool.”

She’d hit him again if she could get away with it. “Point is, no one’s batting an eye if I throw your ass out and let you repeat the year. I’m of half a mind to pull that particular trigger and make you start all over with the underclassmen next year.”

“You can’t suspend me, he started it!”

“Start what? I just gave you a recommendation and you attacked me like some kinda gorilla.”

“Enough,” Miller says, knocking his hand on the table to stop their bickering. She shuts up. She’s got everything to lose here. Johnny’s arms fold in front of him and he leans back in his tiny chair.

Miller says, “I’m not going to suspend you, Danvers.” 

Johnny leans forward. “What? She attacked me completely unprovoked. I’m gonna have a black eye.”

“Enough, Mr. Storm. Truth is, we know that you’re friends with Jessica Drew, and that she’s very sick.” He picks up a folder and thumbs through it. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but her parents called the school this morning to let us know she won’t be back for the remainder of the school year.”

The rest of the year? “Why?” Her whole body feels wrong, somehow. It’s a stupid question. Of course it is. But she asked it anyway.

He checks the folder again. “Looks like they’ve arranged a private facility for the next round of treatments. I’m sorry, Carol, I don’t know where.”

She’s aware that both Johnny and Mr. Miller are watching her, waiting for some kind of reaction. Her body is on fire. Her heart crushed. 

She sits there, dumbfounded. Johnny says, “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Why would you, jerkoff?” Carol snipes at him.

Vice Principal Miller holds her gaze. “Language.”

“Can I go?” she asks. “If you’re not suspending me, am I free to go to class?”

“If you can promise me you won’t get into any more fights, you’re free to go. You’re good with that, right, Mr. Storm?”

Johnny harrumphs, but nods. He looks like he’s about to say something, for Christ’s sake probably something  _ nice _ , and Carol can’t stand the thought.

She bolts out of the door and goes to class. Heroic ideas of leaving school early to track down her best friend and make everything okay flash across her mind, but she has no idea where to start.

No idea how to find Jessica until someone tells her where she is.

What good is she if she can’t even be there for her friend?

She’s so distracted she misses questions on the test, which she studied for but has no clear memory of any of it. It’s all wiped away.

By the time her final class comes around, she’s all but decided to skip her internship for the day so she can try to hunt down the Drew family and make sure Jess is okay. She’s not okay. It’s not okay.

After class ends, Hank gets her attention by tapping her on the shoulder. “You should know that someone is spreading rumors that Jessica is not coming back to school.”

Carol shrugs. “Not a rumor. Johnny probably blabbed it. He was there when I heard it.”

Hank tries to cover his surprise. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know, Hank. I wish I did, but they’re somewhere they didn’t tell me about.”

“I heard about the fight with Johnny. It sounds like you really laid it on thick.”

“He said a thing that just, I don’t know, broke the camel’s back, whatever the phrase is.”

“Do you need anything? A pie, or some vigilante justice?”

The odd statement catches her off-guard, and she might have laughed if the circumstances were better. Instead she grimaces and shakes her head. “No thanks, Hank. I need to finish my day, and then I need to find Jessica.”

“I will keep an ear out in case someone knows more,” Hank offers, and Carol nods absently as they walk out of the room.

Hank says, “About Miss Frost and the ice cream shop--”

“I really don’t have time for that right now, Hank.”

“But I think I figured out what her power is.”

She stops short and whirls on him. “I mean it, man. I can’t think about anyone else’s problems right now. You and your mu--new friends are on their own.”

She leaves him standing at his bus as she hops into her parents’ car, where her mother has been waiting.

“Did you know about Jessica this morning?” Carol asks point blank, no time to argue.

“What about her? Seatbelt, dear.”

Carol absentmindedly puts her seatbelt on for the drive out to the S.H.I.E.L.D base. “She’s been pulled out of school for the rest of the year.”

Her mother glances at her and shakes her head. “I hadn’t heard that, Carol. Is she in the hospital again?”

“They put her in a private facility somewhere. No one knows where and I haven’t heard from any of them.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. It’s hard to hear it, but it might be coming to an end.”

Coming to an end. “She’s gonna be okay.”

“Sure she will, but you should probably--”

“She will be okay, Mom. Drop it.”

Her mom drops it and they drive in silence for a while. “Is there anything you want to tell me about school today?” she finally asks.

“It’s a big brick building with oppressive standards.”

“I mean your knuckles, dear. Unless you were punching that brick building, you know what I mean.”

Carol sighs. Her knuckles are cracked and split, with some new bruising showing up. It oddly doesn’t hurt, though. 

“Just a kid who needed to be taught some manners.”

“And did he learn the manners, or should I be expecting a call from a school official, or maybe a lawyer?”

Carol shrugs. “We’re fine.”

They drive in silence the rest of the way, and Carol looks to her mother as they’re pulling up. “Can you call in sick to an internship?”

“Best not, if you want to stay in their good graces. Go, try to rally yourself. I’ll make some calls while you’re gone, see if I can’t figure out where Jessica is.”

Carol’s sudden urge to hug her mother comes so abruptly that she throws her arm around her before she can think better of it. Her mother stiffens before relaxing.

“Thanks, Mom.” Her mother makes a surprised sound, but before she can say anything, Carol hops out of the car and closes the door. She waves good-bye and heads inside for her internship. How she’s ever going to concentrate is beyond her, but she’s gotta keep things going. However she can.

 

An hour of physical fitness starts the day off poorly. Carol runs herself ragged on purpose. If she stops, she starts to think, and thinking is very bad right now. She collapses to the grass in a heap of sweat and tingling limbs, breath heaving loud enough to wake the dead.

Her instructor brings her water, and she drinks it hastily before standing up and continuing to run. Another five minutes, and then she has to slow down and rest. 

Jess is sick. She’s hurting. And Carol isn’t there to help at all. No time for such thoughts. She gets to her feet and starts running. Her lungs burn, and her ribs ache, and there’s a stitch in her side that’s threatening her to slow down.

But on she runs. Soon enough she cramps up, and her legs shake and won’t hold her weight properly. She drops like a newborn deer, and feels faint, like the world is too bright suddenly and she just needs to sit down for a few.

One moment she is accepting another glass of water, and the next she wakes up in Dr. Storm’s infirmary, the selfsame woman smugly examining Carol’s face while drawing blood. Carol lays on the surface of an exam table, drenched in a cold sweat and feeling unsteady. Her jacket has been removed, but is sitting on the chair next to Susan’s workstation.

“Multi-tasker,” Dr. Storm says. “You manage to pass out while drinking water and nearly drown.”

“What?”

“Take it easy for a minute, but sit up when you feel you can.”

Carol immediately raises up to a seated position. She feels oddly fine, and accepts a glass of water without passing out this time.

“Did someone carry me here?” she asks.

“The part of your brain that would be able to answer that question hasn’t caught up yet, but yes, a couple of people at the training field brought you over. Everyone was very worried.”

“Nobody worries about the rookie.”

Susan scoffs. “Everybody worries about the rookie. They’re most likely to get themselves hurt trying to prove something they’re not.”

She holds up some obscure piece of green technology with a view screen and some kind of sensory probes sticking out of the ends. “This is just going to take some more… ephemeral stats. Please sit still for sixty seconds.”

“No problem, Doc.” She’s secretly grateful that all this is happening. Every second she doesn’t have to think about--damn, now she’s thinking about it.

The little device with the probes lays against her skin on her left arm. One probe gently massages an area, while the other pokes and prods at the skin, never strong enough to hurt or break the skin, but the sensation is bizarre to say the least. Like a scorpion feeling around with its tail.

After a minute, the device bleeps and Dr. Storm removes the probes from her arm. “What does that do again?” Carol asks, sliding her legs over the exam table to stand up now.

“It measures sarcasm and credulity.”

It took a full three seconds before Carol forced a laugh. “I wasn’t sure you could tell jokes.”

“Who’s to say I’m joking?”

A somewhat distorted voice comes over the comms. “Dr. Storm, report to Infirmary 3C for visitor protocol.”

Dr. Storm checks her watch and sighs. “I thought he was early, but you just made me late is all. Very well. I am going to check on another patient, please stay here and recover until I return. If you feel the need to touch or play with anything, fight your base instincts and do not.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n Stormy.”

“Dr. Storm is fine. I will be back soon.”

She sweeps out of the room, leaving Carol alone with heavens knows what kind of gadgets and gizmos at her disposal. She reminds herself to tell Susan about the fight with Johnny today as she stands up and stretches, groaning at the way her muscles protest.

She grabs her jacket and slips it back on. It’s not cold in this room so much as she wants to feel its comforting weight. As she settles it about her shoulders and shoves her hands in her pockets, she realizes she has placed something in her pocket. She has no memory of holding anything but her water, and when she removes the item, she discovers it is the small device with the view screen and the probes. What would have possessed her to pick it up in the first place, let alone drop it into her jacket.

She goes to set it back down on the counter where Dr. Storm left it, but nonchalantly slips it back into her jacket pocket instead, promptly forgetting she has done so.

Voices raise some distance away, further distracting her. Dr. Storm arguing with a man, maybe British. The man’s voice is almost yelling while Dr. Storm is cool and placid, as always. They’re arguing about protocol? It’s not Howard or Tony Stark, or any of the pilots or soldiers she’s met on base.

So why is the voice so familiar?

She steps closer to the hallway, putting her ear to the outside.

The man says, “Look, I pulled some very big strings to make this happen. Strings for people you don’t want attached. We’re going to prep for a week and head overseas to get the rest of the treatment.” Treatment?

Susan responds, “You realize how much of a risk it is? The odds of survival are already small enough, but add in the experimental nature of the treatment, and even IF she survives it could destroy her physically, mentally, emotionally.”

The man almost snarls. “You obviously don’t have any kids or you wouldn’t even think of questioning this.”

Susan’s voice raises slightly. “I do not have kids, but I am raising my brother. Our parents died and it’s everything I have to get him through school.” Suddenly Carol understands why he’s such a bastard, and feels bad even thinking it. 

Susan goes on, “So yes, I know about loss and pain. Don’t you ever try to compare scars with me, Jonathan.”

That name sparks it for Carol. She bursts out of the door, following the voices. It can’t be, but it is. It has to be. But it can’t, can it?

Their argument continues as Carol reaches the small waiting room, pushes open the door they’ve left ajar, and here, in the belly of the beast, stands Jessica Drew’s father, Jonathan.

Her expression must mirror his. Slackjawed disbelief. Wonder. Incredulity.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“What is SHE doing here?” he asks Dr. Storm.

Dr. Storm’s anger abates into confusion between the two. “You know each other.”

“This is Jessica’s best friend,” Jonathan says. “How did you find out we brought her here?” Carol glares at him before realization dawns. 

"Jess is HERE? How? Why?" Carol swallows the lump in her throat as Jessica's father stares back at her. There are a million questions, and she's afraid they all have the same answer.

“We should all take a breath and a step back,” Susan says, hands in her pockets.

“Like hell, which room?” Carol demands.

Neither answer her, and she kicks the door, denting the metal a little bit. “Which room is my friend in or I will break containment on every single one?”

Neither answer for a second, and Carol looks to Dr. Storm. “Okay, then.”

She turns and Dr. Storm immediately calls out for her to wait. 

She stops and waits. Susan says, “3C is down the hall, turn left, and then second to last door on the right. There’s no need for suits or anything like that.”

“Wait,” Jonathan says, reaching out for Carol, but Carol pushes his arm away.

“If you want all your fingers to stay straight, you better leave me the hell alone right now.”

His hand pulls back and he sighs, looking down at the floor. “I was going to prepare you.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going.”

And she goes. Down the hall, left turn, second to last door on the right. The chart on the wall reads, “Drew, J.” with some letters and numbers that don’t mean anything to Carol.

Her fingers shake as she reaches for the door handle, and she’s so afraid of what she’s going to find inside that she hesitates. She hates that she hesitates, but she does.

Her fingers on the door, she just can’t go in.

But the thought of her friend, alone and scared in this place, pushes her over the edge. 

Anything for you, Jess.

She opens the door, and inside the brightly-lit room is a hospital bed, with a fully-clothed, healthy-looking, Jessica Drew. Reading a book and mumbling the dialogue to herself the way she doesn’t realize she does.

Jess looks up from her book, and to her credit, doesn’t display the slightest amount of surprise at seeing Carol.

Instead she smiles that smile that Carol lives for, that levels mountains and dries up streams. 

She says, “Took you long enough to find me, I’ve been here twenty minutes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one year anniversary of Carol fic! Approximately one year ago I posted my first fic and a one-shot, just a cute little meetup between an old Howard Stark and a young, punk Carol Danvers. It's turned into so much more and I appreciate you all for staying on this journey with me! Stick with it, Carol and her friends have a lot more to do before it's over.


	16. Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol and Jess come to terms with the news that Jess is leaving, and Carol hatches a plan to send her friend off in a memorable way.

“Twenty minutes?” Carol asks, her fear and worry twisting into something worse. “I’ve been trying to call you for days!” The door clicks shut behind her, and they are alone.

Jessica sits up, tossing her book on the side table, and holds her hand out to Carol. “I’ve been asking to call you for just as long, Care Bear. Secret hospitals and government facilities apparently have problems with their patients casually calling friends.”

“Secret hospitals?” Despite the spike of weird, confused anger in her gut, Carol goes to her friend and takes her hand, pulls her into a hug and sits on the bed with her.

Jessica holds Carol in the hug for a long time before letting her go. “My dad apparently has some deep connections, because we went to places all over the region since Saturday. Places that, I swear, from the outside were just like, warehouses or storage. When we’d go in, there were lab techs, doctors, patients.”

“Secret or just well-hidden?”

Jessica glances at the closed door and whispers, “Honest to God, Care, I think they’re classified and probably illegal.”

“And your dad has connections to them how?”

Jessica shrugs. “We’ve always known he was a researcher for laboratories and confidential, if not classified, research projects, but I guess it goes much deeper. Hell, I’m somehow here inside ‘Stark Aviation’ which is a cover for a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.”

“It is really strange having you here,” Carol says. “But I’m not interested in any of this. Secrets are gonna keep. You’re _leaving_ _the country_.”

Jessica’s eyes drop away from Carol, staring at anything but her friend. “Right. I guess if you found out I was here, you’d find out I was also going away.”

“Where? How soon?”

“Dad said like a week? It’s all been a blur. I’m mostly trying not to think about it.”

Carol gets that, but she says, “And what was the plan if you didn’t end up here where I could see you? Just disappear to a foreign country and die without saying goodbye?”

“I wasn’t being given much of a choice, Carol.” She pulls her hand free of Carol and puts her arms around herself. “And I’m not going to die.”

“You told me not to bullshit you early on, Jess. You’re fighting a battle you can’t win, only postpone the loss. That’s what you’ve told me again and again.”

Jess shakes her head. “I don’t know. This treatment is supposedly something my dad has been working on. Any time he left the country on business, he was doing this.”

“And he had to leave the country because it’s not legal here, even to secret government facilities?”

Jess nods, still not looking at Carol.

Carol says, “And why now? You seem healthy enough at the moment.”

“Dad says if we wait until it gets worse, it’ll be too late.”

Too late. Being faced with death trumps anything Carol is dealing with. Everything. “But you’ve seemed good.”

Jess shakes her head again, staring at herself in the mirror. “You’ve seen what I wanted you to see. It’s hard, Carol. It’s been so hard.”

She’s fighting back tears, but one thing Carol and Jessica always agreed on: crying is okay if it’s just them.

“I know it has,” Carol says, scooting in closer and rubbing a hand on Jess’s back to console her. “It’s been hard for me, and I’m just a loser who loves you. I can’t even imagine your side.”

Jess smiles, wiping tears and ugly-cry-snorting. “You might be a lot of things, Carol Danvers, but you’re definitely not a loser.”

She leans into Carol and lets Carol hug her, and they sit in silence, arms wrapped around each other. To think that in a week Carol might never be able to do this again. To never see Jess’s beatific grin, her untamed curls of black hair getting in the way of anything and everything, her green eyes that always see more than they let on behind her big, dorky glasses. It’s not fair. None of it is fair.

After a long time of taking solace in each other, Jess sniffs and leans forward, breaking the embrace. 

Carol sits up, too. “So a week.”

Jess nods.

“Then I guess you’d better get ready for one hell of a going-away party next weekend.”

Jess laughs, wiping at her eyes and smudging her glasses. “You’re throwing me a party? _You_?”

Carol shrugs. “Maybe not a traditional party, but if you’re up for it, I think you’ll find you’re happy to be part of C. Crew.”

“Heh. Wondered when you were gonna see that.”

“Consider me a steadfast soldier in the J. Army,” Carol says.

They chuckle at their bad jokes. They laugh because laughing is easier than crying.

Carol spends the remainder of her internship with Jessica in the infirmary. Jonathan Drew and Dr. Storm answer questions, what they can, but mostly leave Jessica and Carol alone. Carol does break off from Jessica for long enough to have a quick chat with Dr. Storm.

They step outside Jess’s room and Carol says, “I, uh, probably need to apologize to you.”

“Would that be a first?” Susan’s arms cross in front of her and she leans against the wall, all self-satisfied.

“Close enough that I hate it. Look, I’m sorry about the things I’ve said about your brother. We kind of got into a fight today and I’m pretty sure I gave him a black eye.”

“Did he deserve it?” 

“Not really?” Carol says. “He was just being a jerk at the wrong moment and I snapped. He even made me feel bad about it later when I wasn’t getting expelled in front of him.”

“Expelled? My dear, you should know better than to pick fights at school.”

“Like I said, I snapped. He made a snarky remark about Jess and I guess that’s something of a trigger for me.”

Dr. Storm sniffs, glancing at Jess’s closed door. “You seem very close with that young woman. You understand her diagnosis is terminal?”

Carol nods. “She’s reminded me a thousand times.”

“For what it is worth, Ms. Danvers, I’m sorry for your inevitable loss.”

She stiffens, all her muscles locking up in tense refusal. “You don’t know she’ll die.”

“The odds are stacked heavily against her, even with her father’s experimental treatment. Would you like to know the statistics of successful experimental treatments performed outside of clinical trials and proper safety measures?”

“Do you know that statistics are bullshit and you’re a bitch?”

Susan smiles. “I believe in statistics, but I grant you the second. All I’m saying is that your friend might go into this and suffer immeasurably for no result, or a swifter death. The most common cause of death in clinical trials is that the body becomes too weak to fight off both the illness and the side effects of the treatment.”

“You’re saying this is a hail mary like we don’t all know this.”

Dr. Storm shakes her head. “My job as a physician is not to comfort patients with platitudes and false hope. Let the nurses handle that. I am here to deliver news, good or bad, and manage expectations for treatment regimens.”

“Is it against your programming?”

Dr. Storm stares at her for a moment before cracking a genuine smile. “Beep boop, Ms. Danvers.” She walks away and Carol has no idea how to process any of this. She goes to the restroom to wash her face and take a minute for herself. She’s almost forgotten how she ended up in the infirmary in the first place until she sees the sweatstains on her shirt in the mirror.

She cleans up as best she can and looks for something to mask any body odor, but nothing in the restroom will help. She spots a medical cart outside and roots through it, looking for scented lotion but finding nothing helpful. Why would they have scented anything in a hospital?

She berates herself as she pockets a medical grade something-or-other from the cart, and goes back to Jess’s room, where her dad is now standing outside, seemingly waiting for her.

“Ah, Carol,” he says politely, “Dr. Storm has informed me of your… unusual position here. I have to say I’d have never pictured you running in the same circles as me. No offense, but you’re always so hostile and punk and gung-ho about flying.”

That he knows even this much about her surprises Carol. They’ve barely spoken in all the time Carol and Jessica have been friends.

“Dumb luck, mostly,” she says, anxious to get back to her friend, but Jonathan holds a hand up to her when she goes to pass him.

“I want you to know that I’m doing everything in my power to save Jessica. It’s not fair to her she has to live this way, but I’ve always appreciated that you kept her grounded. That you stuck around when you found out she was sick, and not just sick but dying.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Drew. I know you’re doing whatever it takes.”

“Yes. Whatever it takes for my daughter.”

Carol leaves him at the doorway, closing it behind her to spend more time with Jess. She has a vague and unsettling feeling deep in her gut at the way Jess’s father spoke of the treatment.

When Carol gets home after the internship hours are over, and she is stripping down to shower and do homework, she realizes she has three different items in her jacket pockets that she placed there and simply forgot about. The sensor probe thing, some small digital diagnostic tool, and a third thing she has literally no idea its purpose, but is clearly S.H.I.E.L.D. tech and not something she should have walked off base with.

She must have really been out of it to be so forgetful. A sick Jess can do that to her, she supposes. She packs the items into her bag, intending to simply put them back on Wednesday for her next internship day. 

She falls asleep thinking of Jess, and of what kind of celebration she could possibly throw for her friend. A smile creases her lips as she dozes off, because she has an idea. How she’ll actually pay for it is another story, but it can work. 

It has to work.

 

The next day, Carol is distracted still, but purposefully. She sketches out plans, attaching possible prices to each thing, wondering if her tips will be good enough by Saturday to pay for it all.

Whatever happens, it’ll get paid for.

Then during lunch, while Carol sits with Hank since Jess is gone, Hank apologizes for the day before.

“You clearly had more important things going yesterday, and I should have been able to ‘read the room’ as it were,” he says, and Carol looks up from her mashed potatoes.

“Yeah… no, I cut you off when you were trying to tell me something. What was it?”

“About Emma’s power--” His ears twitch and his head twists to the side a little, looking at the closed double doors to the cafeteria. Carol, becoming attuned to his heightened senses, turns to the door, holding her plastic knife like it’ll do any kind of good if someone is here to hurt people.

Suddenly the doors burst inward, revealing Tony Stark waltzing in with a smile and a stack of pizza boxes. He glances around the room and calls out, “Pizza Party lunch provided by Stark Aviation! We’ve got your pepperoni, your mushroom, your anchovies for the weirdos in the back. More than enough for everyone, and just remember: Stark Aviation brings you joy and gets you where you’re going.”

Several more people follow behind him, delivering dozens and dozens of pizzas to the cafeteria line. Carol and Hank watch the display completely dumbfounded, and after several minutes of chaos and chatter, students and faculty alike getting slice after slice of greasy, tasty-looking pizza, Tony drops down into a seat at the table next to them, the biggest grin on his face and a pizza box in hand.

“Pizza?” he asks innocently, taking a slice for himself.

Carol stammers out a reply. “I--what--did you seriously bring hundreds of dollars worth of pizza just to crash our lunch?”

He laughs and dishes out a slice of pizza to each of them, the works with more veggies and meats than the slice can handle. “On paper, I’m a representative of a new company looking to invest in local sports teams and become an advertising partner for them.” He leans in, mouth full of pizza. “But yes. I’m here to crash your lunch, because I can.” 

“Thank you for the pizza, Tony,” Hank says. “I’m sure it was well-received.”

“Damn right it was.” Tony looks around briefly and back to Carol. “No Jessica today?”

The abrupt reminder causes Carol’s shoulders to slump all over again. She tells him the briefest version of the story, and his demeanor changes. “So that’s just it, then? I’m sorry, Carol, I wouldn’t have done something dumb like this if I’d known.”

“It’s fine. Truthfully, it’s a nice distraction while I’m at school and can’t do anything about it.”

“So are you doing something for her? Party or get together or something? I’m paying for it, whatever it is.”

Carol shakes her head, and is mad that she is even considering it, but she was worried about paying for it... 

Finally she gives a slight nod. “You can help, but I’m not about to let you swoop in with your gajillion dollars and take over the whole ordeal.”

“Just let me know what, where, when, how much. We’ll give her whatever she wants.”

“I would also like to help, Carol. I have not become close with her quite as much as you, but I consider her a friend. I would like to see her off in style. I have a new bowtie I can wear.”

Carol almost laughs, thinking he’s joking, but the serious expression tells her otherwise. “I’m sure you’ll look great, bowtie or not.”

The rest of the conversation is lost in planning and pizza, in the power of a promise. In giving Jess everything she deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of this part, just two or three chapters left! As a quick note to set your minds at ease, Jess is not leaving the story. Carol & Jess is the second most important part of this story and I'm not about to stop that train.


	17. A Frosty Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol's day gets very bad very quickly once she arrives at her ice cream job with Emma Frost.

The ice cream shop is exceptionally dead when Carol arrives after school. The slight chill in the air and the fact that it’s a Tuesday aren’t helping, she’s sure.

Not even any teenagers. Carol waves hello to Emma in her crisp white pantsuit behind the counter, the only other person in the shop, as she strolls into the back room to put away her things and get her apron. There is a small bank of tiny lockers, eight units good for a lunch, a bag, and a jacket only, and that’s if she crams it all in. The other employees have lockers, but only Kelly has decorated hers with stickers and some R&B group full of men, or boys that look to be not much older than she is. There are several empty lockers being that there are only four employees total.

As she’s putting her apron on and lifting her bag into her assigned locker, her hand reaches into the bag and pulls out the diagnostic tool from S.H.I.E.L.D., and places it into one of the empty lockers. Carol doesn’t even notice she does it until she’s putting in the second item, the sensor probe that Dr. Storm used on her, and tries to pull her hand back. Her fingers tense up, but her hand places the item in mechanically, and reaches for the third thing. The thing that Carol doesn’t even know its purpose.

Carol stops her hand with her other hand. It shakes with the effort and she feels her hold loosening against her will. The medical device rattles in her grip, and with headache-inducing concentration, she puts the tool back into her bag.

What the hell is going on? And whose ass does she need to kick?

While she thinks this, her hand is already reaching for the tool again, and it makes it into the locker before she notices. Her brain feels ragged and dense, like it would expand out of her skull if it could. She focuses through the piercing migraine.

Why is she doing this? 

She once more reaches for the locker, to retrieve the stolen items, because she now recognizes that’s what happened. She didn’t accidentally walk away with them. She stole them. 

Thinking that seems to give her the willpower to resist whatever’s going on, and she snatches all three items before Miss Frost’s voice catches her offguard.

“Now that’s being a little naughty, isn’t it, Carol?”

She spins, the three stolen items cradled in her arms, and nearly faints from the sudden, immense pressure in her skull. So much worse than before.

Emma saunters over in her white pantsuit with the plunging neckline and somehow even whiter apron. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to simply forget about this?”

The pounding increases, until it feels like a hammer crashing inside her skull, desperate to get out. Carol drops to a knee. Is this Emma’s mutant ability? What had Hank said about her? 

The bell above the door clatters and dings, announcing a customer, and Emma’s focus breaks. Carol has a brief moment of clarity, of easing of pressure, while Emma steps to the doorway and calls out, “Be with you in just a moment, dears.”

Carol uses this time to stand and fight. Only her muscles won’t obey her and she merely holds the stolen tech out to Emma’s outstretched hands. 

“That’s a good girl, Carol. I’ve had time to test your defenses, such as they are. You’ll find it difficult to resist, and impossible to remember.”

White light overtakes Carol’s vision as Emma takes the tech. Blissful, calm oblivion.

Suddenly Carol takes off her apron and it’s nearly dark outside. She has time to wonder where the day went before Emma comes up behind her rattling the tip jar. 

It’s not empty by any means, but Emma says, “Not every day can be Sunday, my lovely,” as she begins to empty it and count it out.

Carol smiles. “Yeah, but I’m not sharing it with everyone, just you.” Carol recoils, like a reflex, when Emma holds out her hand with the tip money.

“Is there something on the paper?” Emma asks, frowning. She goes to examine the bills, but Carol forces herself to take the money.

The feeling doesn’t go away while they clean up. Any time she sees Emma, or they come close together while cleaning tables, her gut churns and roils. Her face feels hot and she wonders if she’s flushed.

But it’s anger. Carol knows anger. Did something happen today? She struggles to remember what happened during her shift, but it’s a blur of half-remembered faces and more spoon samples than she can count. 

She powers through the end of the day, trying not to let her disgust show. It doesn’t take long at all with a slow day, and soon enough Carol’s riding the bus back to her suburb. 

She’s on the bus for several minutes before she recognizes unshed tears in her eyes. Could something have happened and she blocked it out?

She needs to talk to Hank, see if he knows anything about mutants that might affect memory. Wasn’t he talking about Emma’s ability earlier today?

This is a bunch of extra she doesn’t need right now, what with Jess and the stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. tech--that snaps her back in. The things she stole. She digs in her bag, but they’re gone. 

Gone where? 

The sinking, roiling feeling in her gut sends waves out to the rest of her, and she thinks she’s going to be sick. Fortunately the bus is pulling up to her stop and there’s no one else trying to unload.

Carol stumbles off the bus and vomits into the mulch below a tree, but doesn’t feel better afterwards.

What the friggin’ hell is going on, and whose big ass does she get to kick?

Her anger fuels her, and she rushes home, past a convertible parked in the street that pings her memory, but she’s so focused on calling Hank that she ignores it.

Right up until she walks into her house and finds Dr. Wendy Lawson having a nightcap with Carol’s mother. 

Marie Danvers’ face is strained and upset, but Lawson gives Carol a half-smile and a wink, and drains the cocktail in a single gulp.

She says, “Well, hey, you should pull up a seat. We need to talk about you and a little secret.”

Carol drops her bag and it slumps against the tile floor, defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple chapters left in this part! Next time, Carol comes to terms with a secret and asks for help.


	18. The Origin Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol learns a truth about herself, and must quickly come to terms with it before dealing with the stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. tech.
> 
> A super-sized chapter for a super-sized hero! I hope you all enjoy this kickass good time.

_ We need to talk about you and a little secret. _

Carol walks to the table, numb, dropping into her usual seat, between Lawson--sitting in her mother’s usual chair--and her mother--in her father’s usual chair.

“I can explain,” Carol mumbles. But can she? How is she supposed to explain her stealing of tech, let alone how she has access to secret government equipment in the first place. She realizes she’s not sure which secret they’re talking about.

Lawson’s smile falters for a moment and she says, “I’m here to talk about your family history, Danvers.”

“My family…?”

Marie Danvers scoffs and stands, turning her back to the table. “Do we have to do this?”

“There are things your children need to know. To be prepared for, Mari-Ell.”

“Her name’s Marie,” Carol says dumbly.

“It’s both,” her mother says. “Look.” She turns back to Lawson. “I’m not ready.”

“It isn’t about whether you’re ready, but about them being ready. You’re lucky Carol hasn’t manifested beyond some extra strength.” Strength? What are they talking about?

“We don’t even know if they’ll get any of it.”

“We don’t know that they won’t, either,” Lawson points out.

Carol whispers, “Am--am I a mutant?”

Her mother stares blankly for a moment, and Lawson guffaws. “Not even a little bit. You’re something else altogether different. So’s your brother.”

“Can we stop talking in circles?” Carol asks. Her pulse quickens, her breathing grows rapid and ragged. What are they saying?

“Where’s Dad?” she asks when neither says anything.

“You know your brother’s got a game tonight.” A game. Baseball. That’s right. Some people do regular things.

Lawson clears her throat. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” 

Carol glances at her mother, who nods reluctantly, and back at Lawson. “What is it?” Lawson holds a hand out and covers Carol’s on the table, squeezing for reassurance. 

“Carol Danvers, your mother is not from this planet.”

Carol laughs. A short, snorting, coughing sort of laugh. She can’t help it. She manages to say, “I don’t get the joke, but it’s fucking hilarious.”

Marie Danvers sits down and reaches out to Carol, who recoils from them both, nearly falling backwards out of her chair before catching herself.

Her mother says, “It isn’t a joke, honey. I’m not human.”

Not human. Her mind scatters with the information. She can’t focus. 

“What does that mean?”

Wendy Lawson says, “It means she’s an alien, E.T. style, and you’re half.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because it’s true, and because your instructor here is the same as me.”

Carol glances between the two women at the table. Aliens. Dark matter exists. Mutants exist with terrifying and awe-inspiring abilities. Experimental jets that shouldn’t fly. All of this exists and she’s seen most of it. 

But aliens? And she’s  _ half  _ of one?

“Wouldn’t people figure it out?” Carol asks.

Lawson pours herself some straight whiskey and sips it. “Your genetics are masked behind your human half and the relative insophistication of the tools at your planet’s disposal.”

“Humans are dumb,” Carol says, laughing weakly.

Lawson says, “Not ‘dumb’ just not as far along as others. Maybe Stark and a few others I’ve met in my time here.”

She stares at Lawson. “And you’re one, too.”

“Tried and true, blue-blooded.”

“You have blue blood?” Carol turns to her mother. “I’ve seen your blood before. It’s red, like mine.”

Her mother says, “A masking agent turns it red.”

Lawson looks surprised at that. “Really? Is that what’s going on with hers?”

Carol has had enough. She stands and pulls her hand away when her mother reaches for her. “This is--it’s too much.” She still has the stolen items to deal with. She still has her secret internship to deal with. Jess. 

She goes for the door and the two women at the table let her go. “Uh. Lawson? Can you give me a ride?”

“It’s late--” Marie starts, but Carol glares at her and she falters.

“Sure, ace. Anything you need.” Lawson stands up and offers her hand to Marie. “You know how to get in touch if you need me for your son.” Marie stares up at Lawson, angry tears in her eyes, but she nods.

“Take care of my daughter.”

“Always.”

Carol steps out and sits in the passenger seat of the convertible, waiting for Lawson. After a minute or so, the doctor steps out, shrugs her shoulders into her jacket, and hops into the driver’s seat.

She turns the engine over and pulls out of the driveway, aggressive like Tony but not as controlled. Or perhaps not as controlled on purpose. It takes no time at all to reach the highway and really test the engine.

“Hell of a night,” Lawson finally says.

“You’re telling me. And you don’t even know the half of it.” Before Lawson can ask what she means, Carol blurts out, “So what are we? Martians? Jupiterites? Plutonians?”

“None of your other planets has any life, Carol. We’re Kree.” She spells it. “Many of us have blue skin, all of us have blue blood.”

“Kree.” Carol wraps the word in her mind. Kree. “Does this mean I need to hide? Like the mutants? Are there more like us?”

“Until I saw you in the Director’s office, I thought I was the only one on C-53. Earth,” she corrects when Carol’s head shifts and her eyes narrow. “Galactic designation is C-53.”

Galactic designation. Her head swims. What had she been so worried about before? Stolen tech? 

“What are you doing here? Why did my mother come here? Are you explorers? Ship-wrecked? Conquerors.”

Lawson doesn’t answer at first, just weaves in and out of lanes with the confidence of a racecar driver. Finally she says, “That’s a complicated question. Yes, the Kree are conquerors. No, I’m not, and I don’t believe your mother is, either.”

“So you’re what, refugees?”

“I can’t speak for Mari-Ell, but I’m here to stop my people’s conquering ways. I’m trying to bring an end to war.”

Carol laughs. “And here I am just trying to figure out how to pay for a fancy dinner for me and my best friend.” Suddenly she straightens in the seat. “You said humans were cavemen compared to other aliens.”

“I said they were behind the curve.”

“Whatever. Does that mean you have advanced medicine?”

Lawson sighs. “It does, but whatever’s going on with your friend, I’m not able to help. I looked into it when I first confirmed you were half-Kree. The experimental treatments have changed something fundamental in your friend. Something I’ve never seen before, and something I wouldn’t even know where to start to correct.”

Carol slumps again. So much for that. That she’s gone so quickly from disbelief to exploitation is not lost on her, but she’s trying so hard not to get lost in the weeds. Not to drown. Stay above water.

“How do I know this isn’t all some weird S.H.I.E.L.D. test, or you’re not some psycho mutant who just abducted me.”

Lawson mouths “psycho mutant” and scoffs. “You’re better than that, Carol.”

“Am I? I’m part of a conquering race of blue aliens. Maybe it skips a generation.”

“I think you know better than that. You felt it when we first met, didn’t you?” Carol had. She felt a connection, but thought it was just reverence for a strong woman who was doing everything she wanted in life.

“I felt your alienness,” Carol says. “In some way, I’ve always felt it from my mother, my brother.”

“Mari-Ell says you two are not close.”

“We’re not. She always holds back.” Suddenly so many things over the years click into place. Her mother’s reluctance to put Carol into any physical program, put her at any risk. To let her brother Steve vegetate on video games and play the least injurious sport of baseball.

She takes a huge, deep breath, trying to focus. “So I’m a half-breed. A hybrid.”

“You’re a combination of two compatible species, stretched across the galaxy. You and your brother are one in a googol.”

“Googol?” 

“It’s a number larger than any you’ve ever conceived of. For a species that hasn’t bridged the galactic divide, meeting another species is rare enough; to be compatible is rarer still.” She laughs. “But there is a saying about humanity that fits well here, in your science fiction.”

“What’s that?”

“Humans will screw anything.”

Carol laughs at that. She has to. It’s so absurd. None of it makes any sense, but all of it makes too much sense.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“I’m just driving; did you want to go somewhere specific? We can go find that diner you like.”

“You’re watching me.”

“Of course I’m watching you. You’re the first Kree of any fraction of blood I’ve run into in years. At first I thought I might have to flee, abandon my work and start over on some other backwater planet with a primitive species on the cusp of technological greatness.”

“But then I was just some dumb girl who didn’t even know she’s an alien.”

“With a mother who has her own reasons for being on Earth, hidden away from the galactic empire.”

“What’s our homeworld?”

“It’s called Hala, distance beyond measure as far as humans are concerned. Towers that defy your understanding of physics. Medicine that looks like magic. Weapons that shoot energy instead of bullets. Pew pew lasers.”

Carol giggles. “And you’re here to stop a war? Why? How?”

“There’s a lot about my story I can’t really tell you, Carol. You’re getting the synopsis when you want the trilogy.”

“Still. You’re not a… villain, are you?”

“Curious way to ask if you can trust me.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I’m trying to stop the deaths of countless innocent lives. Does that sound like a villain to you?”

“I seem to be running into them, lately,” Carol mutters. She is thinking of Johnny Storm and Emma Frost. Despite not remembering exactly what happened, she is sure Miss Frost did something to her. Otherwise why would she cringe when she thinks of her?

“You’ve got villains in your crosshairs, Danvers? You’re still a kid.”

“Doesn’t mean much when you’ve got access to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.” How much should she say? 

“What are you getting at?”

“I need to tell you something. Is there a Kree promise I can swear you to? A bond of secrecy?”

“We can stick with an ‘I promise’ if you like.”

Carol stares at Lawson. At… whatever her real name is. There’s an earnest expression on her face. Crow’s feet because she’s perpetually smiling or grinning at a joke only she perceives. An alien, but also someone Carol wants to trust. Someone Carol feels she can confide in.

“You called my mother Mari-Ell,” Carol says. “Do you have an alien name? A Kree name?”

“Mar-Vell.”

“Marble?”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Mar-Vell? Like Marvel but said like a weirdo?”

“Said like a Kree name.”

“Mar-Vell. Well, Mar-Vell, I need to tell you about the ice cream shop I work at, and why I need your help stealing shit from it.”

 

They wait outside Rhodey’s diner, closing in on midnight. Carol knows he is off that night, and isn’t worried about running into anyone she knows. The diner is far enough from the ice cream shop that Lawson--Mar-Vell--feels safe that Emma Frost can’t pick up their thoughts. If she’s even there. If she has mental powers and Carol is right about it all.

Carol doesn’t know what exactly the plan is, but she does know that Emma stays late and other business after hours. If she thinks Carol is duped, or manipulated properly, then she might go on as if nothing has changed.

And the three of them can strike. 

A familiar black car pulls up. One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. sedans. Carol is nervous about bringing in anyone from her internship, given they’re trying to recover stolen items that she stole, but Lawson assures her.

The window rolls down and Melinda May stares back at the two of them. “You didn’t say anything about a cheeseburger, Doc. What the hell is a minor doing here?”

“She needs our help,” Lawson says, getting into the front seat and waving at the back seat for Carol. Carol slides in as the doors shut simultaneously, bathing them all in darkness.

“Does she need a fighter jet?” May asks, glancing back at Carol. Carol hates the look, the “why are you messing this up” look. She deserves it right now, but she still hates it.

“Just a fighter. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t trust anyone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. to keep a secret. They’re all so bad at it, for a secret covert operation.”

May laughs as she starts driving. “Some are better than others. So what’d you do, Cheeseburger?”

Carol and Lawson fill May in, and May’s expression goes dour, and then angry. Her lips are thin and pinched, and her brows are furrowed. Carol tells them everything she can about her memory, or lack thereof, and Lawson gives them some advice that she says  _ might  _ help. 

May says, “So we’ve got a mutant who manipulated Carol into stealing confidential equipment, and maybe can make you forget things? Sounds safe.”

Lawson winks at Carol and says, “I can help Carol retrieve her memories later, if that is indeed what happened. For now, we must get the items back before anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. realizes they’re not just misplaced.”

“I could have checked our files for known mutants in the area if you’d given me a little warning,” May says as they park a couple blocks from Ice Dream, Inc.

“And have people at S.H.I.E.L.D. asking questions about why we’re searching?” Lawson shakes her head. “No, this is strictly off-books.”

Now May shakes her head, but she’s already slipping gloves on and stretching. “I hate going in without intel.”

Carol glances between the two of them. “Are we going to beat her up?”

Lawson says, “Hopefully we don’t have to. If she’s in there, she thinks she got away with it. And if she thinks that, finding out she’s on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar should wise her up and help her see the light.”

“Do we need firepower?” May asks now. “We can’t use any government-issued guns, but I have a couple of my own.”

Guns? Carol’s gut drops. This is getting way too intense. Lawson shakes her head no, though. “We can’t risk it. We go in covert and leave covert.”

“I’m not exactly known for stealth,” Carol says, pointing at her spikes and piercings.

“You should stay in the car,” May says. 

That pokes at Carol and her spine stiffens. “I can help. I can practically take you down.”

“You’ve never been in a real fight. And sucker punching a boy at school doesn’t count.”

“I’ve got experience elsewhere,” Carol says, thinking about Hank’s vigilantism. She remembers Hank suddenly, and wishes she had called him. Anything concrete on Emma and John Proudstar’s abilities would be useful.

“May’s right,” Lawson says, opening her door. “You’re a minor and you aren’t ready to fight.”

“Asshole,” Carol says, reaching for her door, and May activates the locks.

“Unless this thing has some kind of prisoner mode, you can’t keep me in here.”

May deadpan stares at Carol. “Give me a sec, Doc. I’ll be right out.”

Wendy Lawson--Mar-Vell, Carol reminds herself--nods and closes her door, leaning against the brick wall of a florist shop to wait.

Carol’s arms fold in front of her, which probably looks petty and petulant, but she doesn’t care. “Are you gonna give me some kind of pep talk or ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ BS?”

“If I thought for one second those would work, yes. But you’re more stubborn than a kid at the checkout aisle with a Butterfinger in hand.” She sighs and twists in the seat. “Look, you are a minor. You’re our responsibility right now. We’re doing something that is not only questionably legal but also definitely unethical. It’s bad enough I’m putting my career and my freedom on the line, but I’m not about to have you getting hurt on my conscience.”

“Why are you doing this for me, anyway?”

“I’m not doing it for you.” She looks away, up the street towards the ice cream shop, which is shuttered and dark, like everything else on this street right now. “You remember how I told you I get to fly combat ops because they’re secret and the rules don’t apply as much?”

Carol nods, and then says, “Sure,” when she realizes May can’t see her.

“The boys’ club is still very much a thing. I’m almost as good a pilot as I am a fighter, but do you want to know how many times I run the guns instead of the craft? How many times Goose rides a desk with a headset instead of flying?”

She twists in the seat again. “I’m not doing this to help you. I’m doing this to help the Doc. She wants me to pilot her jet, if she can ever get it out of the theoretical stage.”

“So I’m just a charity case.”

“Call it what you want. Doctor Lawson puts her faith in you, just as she has in me. I want to see you succeed, but I want more to fly higher, faster than any jerk in a jumpsuit.”

“Did Lawson tell you why she’s helping me?” Carol asks, nervous. Would May even believe it at this point? 

“Don’t know, don’t care. So will you do us all a favor and stay in the damned car?”

The doors unlock and May steps out. The locking knob below the window mocks Carol. Can she even help in this situation? Should she be trying? They’re doing something on her behalf, something potentially dangerous and almost definitely illegal.

To hell with them. Conscience be damned.

She steps out and slams the door loud enough to cause a scene. “I’m not some damsel in distress, not some broad in a breast-heaving adventure. I got myself into this, and I will help get myself out.”

“I owe you five bucks,” Lawson says as their glances meet and May smirks. 

“I’ll settle for first crack at the pilot’s chair.”

Lawson looks back to Carol. “Let’s go deal with an ice cream witch.”

The headache hits her mere feet from the front door. Carol drops to a knee, clutching at her temples, feeling like her whole world is about to explode.

She concentrates on Lawson. Form a mental barrier. Brick by brick, build a wall. Fight the ocean of pressure, sandbag it, keep building.

Lawson’s face twitches and flinches, but she seems to hold onto her mind. May struggles as Carol gets the wall built in her mind. She can feel a familiar pressure, but it’s dull and far away. It wants in but she’s holding it back. 

May stands up and wipes blood from her nose. She nods to the two women. “I’m good.”

The street is suddenly not empty anymore. A flare of brilliant white light erupts from overhead, dazzling the three women, and in the wake of the light, a woman in fire-yellow costume lands on the sidewalk, waves of heat and fire roiling off her, singing Carol’s eyebrows and heating her piercings. She’s wearing a flame mask over her eyes like some kind of super hero.

“Who the fuck is this?” Carol yells, but it is lost in the chaos. Mar-Vell kicks open the glass door through the metal shutters, displaying a strength no human could hope to achieve, and goes to pull May and Carol inside with her.

Only May grabs Carol’s wrist and twists it, yanking her out towards the street and flipping her onto her back. There is no malice or hate in May’s eyes. There is nothing in her eyes. Carol rolls to safety and stands, with an apparently mind-controlled Melinda May and some chick who creates and controls fire inbetween her and Lawson.

The heat coming from the redheaded woman keeps Lawson from approaching from behind, and Carol can only stare helplessly at the woman through her enemies.

The redheaded woman strikes a pose, a flame shooting out above her head dramatically. “Nice to finally meet you. You’re interrupting a strategy session, little girl.”

“Let her go!” Lawson shouts, but the woman laughs. The pressure increases in Carol’s head again, and she can feel the bricks breaking. She has to somehow maintain her hold over her own mind and deal with this shit at the same time?

“What are you, some lackey?” Carol shouts. 

“Consider me the welcome committee. The papers call me Firestar.”

Carol has no time to process this as she can almost sense the danger behind her. She twists and spins to the left as a hatchet sails through the space she so recently vacated, clattering harmlessly against the steel shutters on the windows.

Behind her on the empty street stands John Proudstar, not dressed in any goofy costume, but wielding another hatchet, and his face is covered in red and white warpaint in the shape of some kind of bird. A phoenix or something from myth.

“Aw, Thunderbird, your entrance was almost as cool as mine,” says Firestar.

“Outnumbered,” he says, walking past Carol to retrieve his hatchet. “You should give up.”

She almost does just that. Nothing is worth the wild circumstances that just unfolded around her. 

Except Jess. Jess is at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility right now. Jess is going to be gone soon. In her mind the pressure increases, but Jess is there, standing in front of the mental barrier, holding the bricks in place. She is radiant and beautiful as she smiles. The pressure all but disappears. Wherever Emma Frost is, her influence means nothing right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carol sees a faint blue something at the edge of the light this Firestar generates, and she smiles.

“So much for stealth!” she yells, charging John Proudstar, only to feint left as a blue blur tackles him from the side.

Hank in his vigilante outfit, masked and all. A beast in the darkness.

Firestar and Thunderbird’s shock at this sudden turn gives Lawson a moment to act. She throws her bag through the door and Carol catches it in the chaos. “Don’t die!”

She disappears deeper into the ice cream shop, leaving Carol and Hank alone out here to deal with two mutants and a mind-controlled S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Hank disengages from Thunderbird and stands back to back with Carol, surrounded now by the three of them.

“I don’t suppose you brought an army with you?” Carol whispers.

“Vigilantes often work alone. I’ll keep my kind occupied.”

Hank throws himself bodily in a wrestling move Carol has only seen on TV, crossbodying Thunderbird and Firestar. Carol reaches into the bag Lawson tossed her, not sure what she’s going to find, and pulls out a stun gun.

Firestar jettisons from the pile Hank created in a burst of fire, singing both Hank and her companion, but Carol can’t pay attention to that as Melinda May charges in, faster than Carol has ever seen her at sparring. Carol barely has time to throw herself back from May’s advance before the woman’s hands fly in a flurry of punches and chops that steal Carol’s breath. 

The moment Carol thinks she’s going to block a strike, May drops and goes to sweep her legs, and Carol’s world tips sideways as her legs lose the ground. The stun gun clatters away and Carol scrambles to get away from May.

“I don’t know if you can fight it, May, but we could sure use the help!”

Hank blows past Carol, collapsing in a smoking heap from a fireball. Sirens sound all around them. Eyes peer from windows above shops.

This can’t go on for long.

Hank coughs and stands, just fast enough to catch a hatchet as it flies past Carol’s head and at his chest. Firestar shoots off the ground like a rocket, spinning overhead as Carol ducks under her assault. 

She throws herself at the stun gun, hoping to get it in her hands before May can kick it away, but no such luck. Instead Carol gets a boot to the ribs as the stun gun drifts across the concrete into a storm drain.

Ribs crack and Carol struggles to breathe as Thunderbird tackles Hank, holding him in a headlock and beginning to choke. Firestar lands in front of him while May kicks at Carol, and the fiery woman holds a hand out to Hank’s face. A jet of white-hot flame licks out, eating away the fabric of his mask. His scream of pain drills into Carol’s soul.

And something happens. Carol thinks about all the times she’s broken something, snapped something,  _ bent _ metal. About Lawson kicking through a steel shutter.

About the Kree half of her.

Carol’s mental image of Jess winks, gives her a thumbs up.

And Carol grabs Melinda May’s leg, yanks it out from under the mind-controlled woman like it’s a twig. May collides with the steel shutter over some windows so hard that the windows crack behind the metal, and she drops to the sidewalk, moaning.

Carol hurts all over, but she remembers all the times she’s been hurt in the past. How quickly she heals. How bruises last hours instead of days. How cuts last minutes. 

How she has never been weak, even when she’s been beaten.

Carol Danvers stands up, adjusting her leather jacket and spitting blood.

Thunderbird sees her first, lets Hank drop to the ground gasping for breath. He gestures and Firestar turns, fiery hand aiming at Carol now.

She knows it hurts. She knows she’ll need medical care. But she also knows these two are in her way and hurting her friend.

Firestar throws almost lazy punches, trusting the broiling heat from her hands to do the damaging work for her. But Carol ignores the pain, the scent of her flesh searing. She dodges under one punch, feeling the heat crisp over and through her spiky hair, and rears back.

_ Crack! _

Firestar’s dazed expression is reward enough for the uppercut Carol delivers. The woman drops back into Thunderbird’s arms, heat and fire vanishing as she loses consciousness.

The fight is over. Thunderbird glares at them, but flees with Firestar in his arms.

Hank coughs and May gasps. They both struggle to their feet, and Carol looks into May’s eyes.

Anger and confusion stare back.

May says, “If I’d known you could do that, you’d be the one teaching me to spar.”

“We should be looking to retreat,” Hank says, doing his best to cover his face now that his mask has been mostly burned away. The sirens grow louder. Police. Fire. Ambulance. Is that a helicopter blade she hears?

They all look rough, but the stinging, burning flesh on Carol’s hands, arms, her chest, and the top of her head are already waning. They’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.

And Lawson is in there alone with Emma Frost.

Carol turns to her comrades in arms and says, “Get to the car. I’ll get Lawson and meet you two streets over.”

“If you don’t get gone now,” May says, “you’ll be stuck in a blockade.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

She doesn’t wait for confirmation.

She just runs inside Ice Dream, Inc. to find Dr. Lawson and Emma Frost.

It doesn’t take long. The shop is not very big and the stock room is  _ trashed _ . Lawson and Emma are locked in a battle of wills near boxes of cones and fluttering napkins. Neither looks remotely normal at the moment.

Lawson’s bleeding blue from her ears, eyes, nose, mouth. Her face is a mask of pain and the veins in her forehead bulge like balloons ready to burst. 

Emma Frost, meanwhile, has an aura of white around her and she’s dressed in some kind of white leather. Her force of will presses in on Lawson, overtaking her mind, fighting a battle that Lawson is clearly losing.

Emma spots Carol as she enters the room, and grins. “Interesting that there’s more of you. And yet you seem to have figured out a way to block me. Your very alien friend here has not yet mastered it, I’m afraid.”

“Let her go.”

“Or what, dear? Do you even know what you’re fighting against? I work to safeguard my kind, and here I find out there’s a whole other kind out there. Kree. Aliens from another world. Of course we all thought they must be out there, but it’s rather delightful to know for certain.”

Lawson groans and fights back, but Emma concentrates and reasserts her dominance. Her hands are spread wide, and Carol gets the distinct impression that she does not need to do this, but it does look flashy.

“You’re a distraction, Ms. Danvers. You can go if you like. Run away and forget any of this happened.” Her grin turns malicious. “I can help you with that, if you like.”

Carol, newfound confidence in her ability to punch things really hard, steps closer to Emma. 

“You can let her go, and give me back the things you stole--”

“Why, Carol, you gladly handed them to me.”

“Shut up. You’re going to give me back what you took, and stop tampering with her mind.”

“Or what, sweetie?”

“Or this.” She rushes forward and rears back her fist, bringing it around to Emma’s center mass. The woman deserves it. She’s a lie, a cheat, and worse. She steals free will.

There’s a thunderous  _ snap _ as Carol’s fist  _ shatters _ against Emma’s chest. Every bone in every knuckle splinters. Muscle tears. Tendons rip. Carol’s hand goes limp.

Emma simply laughs as Carol pulls her hand back to her, cradling it. The place she punched is no longer flesh, but some kind of crystal. Translucent. Emma’s entire body shifts from the center of her chest until she’s mostly see-through, a ghost made of sparkles.

“What the hell is that? Why do you get two powers?” Carol cries between sobs over her splintered fist.

“Sometimes, dear,” Emma says, “people are born lucky. A silver spoon in their mouths, a diamond ass.” She claps a crystal hand against her posterior, which emits a pleasant tone. “Consider me lucky in all the ways that matter.” Her voice is sharper, ringing like a bell.

It’s pleasing. It sounds nice. It makes so much sense.

Oh shit, it’s hypnotic. She fights the dulcet tones of Emma’s voice, focuses on Jess in her mind, pushes the voice away. Emma’s crystalline expression changes to bored frustration.

“You’ve been rather challenging, and I dare say no longer worth the effort. Keep your toys.” Her form shifts back to regular skin, and Lawson drops to a knee, freed from the mental battle. The sirens change to police calls over a loudspeaker, asking for anyone in the ice cream shop to drop any weapons and come out with their hands up.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got an escape hatch,” Carol asks.

“As a matter of fact, I do. And because you’ve been so helpful, I’ll even give you a headstart.” On a wall, Emma flips a switch that Carol has never seen before, and a loud  _ click  _ sounds from the freezer. 

She straightens her leather clothing, but tousles her hair and wipes some errant chocolate from the wall on her face. She adopts a terrified expression, and runs from the back room, screaming about murderers and thieves with big guns.

“What a bitch!” Carol says, helping Lawson to her feet. She’s becoming coherent finally.

“That didn’t exactly go as planned, Carol. Did she say something about an escape plan?”

In response, Carol pulls the freezer door open to reveal the hatch in the floor that she had noticed but completely ignored when she came in here on the clock. But then, why would anybody think to look for secret villain bases underneath a freezer in an  _ ice cream shop _ of all places? She helps Lawson down the hatch and follows, pulling the metal door shut behind her just as police start streaming into the stock room.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. tech sits on a table covered in monitors, all dark now. The rest of the place has been emptied. Did Emma think this was going to happen? Why would she even stick around if she thought there was a chance her cover would be blown?

Because she doesn’t think her cover will be blown. And it probably won’t. How do you stop a telepath who can tell you what’s true? Who can make anyone change any document? Who can access any video footage in any vault just by manipulating the right people?

Carol gathers up the three stolen items and stuffs them into her bag, while Lawson finds a not-so-hidden lever that reveals a quite-hidden door. A panel slides open and Carol has the briefest moment to be impressed before she and Lawson dart down the dimly lit tunnel, leaving behind mutants, the sirens, the police, a job that was in fact too good to be true.

The tunnel leads to the sewer, and they follow the sewer until they’re several streets away, holding their noses against the stench. Carol lets Lawson climb the ladder and push open the sewer lid, since her fist is still very much broken.

They climb out in silence, and after several minutes of ducking into alleys and hiding behind cars, they find May’s black sedan and slip inside.

May and Hank stare at Lawson and Carol in disbelief.

“What a night,” Carol says, clutching her hand to her chest. Everything hurts, and she’s both ashamed and angry at Emma Frost, but they completed the mission. They got the tech back. They got away safely.

Hank clears his throat. “So I am going to posit a theory about how Carol is not actually an intern for Stark Aviation. Feel free to tell me how close I get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some loose threads to tie up in the next chapter, and then we're on to a big, fluffy epilogue to close out this story arc. Fans of Carol & Jess, look forward to something special!


End file.
